Proof of Life
by bluecrush611
Summary: Reagan "Cassie" Cassidy is a 'hopper' for the LAPD. She fills in where she's needed, a chameleon on short notice. When 20-David is down a man, she steps in to help. What she doesn't expect is the personal drama that comes with it. [Deacon/OC] Street
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, all! I'm back with a new story. I'm currently addicted to the CBS reboot of S.W.A.T. and came on here to read some new stuff, but there wasn't any! So I'll write my own. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update, but you know I'm not one to abandon a fic!**

 **(By the way, for this story, Deacon got the promotion over Hondo and isn't married. And my OC might come off as a bit of a Sue, but I'm here to have fun—not write groundbreaking fiction, lol)**

 **I hope you enjoy it! :)**

* * *

Reagan Cassidy followed Captain Cortez through the precinct, her combat boots almost silent on the linoleum floor. She squared her shoulders, proudly wearing the LAPD seal on the front of her black t-shirt. It wasn't even close to her first time wearing it, but today it felt a little more special.

Cortez stopped at one of the workstations, an illuminated table off the main hallway, and swung her hand toward the man in front of her.

"Deacon, this is Officer III Reagan Cassidy. She's one of the force's hoppers. She'll be filling in until Officer Tan is back from his leave."

Deacon held out a large suntanned hand, and Reagan shook it, enjoying the feel of his callouses against her warm palm. It was always the first sign of a hard-working man, but she'd heard enough about David "Deacon" Kay over the years. He was the definition of hard work.

She returned the firm handshake and said, "I've heard a lot about you. It's a pleasure."

"It's nice to meet you too, Reagan. Is that your preferred name? You know we have a knack for nicknames," he said, his lips hinting at a smile underneath his short salt and pepper beard.

She laughed and nodded. "My family calls me Reagan, but at work I go by Cassie."

"All right, then. Welcome to the team, Cassie." He pointed at each person around the table. "Officers Luca, Alonso, Street, and Sergeant Harrelson."

Reagan said hello, though, she already knew Sergeant Harrelson, or "Hondo," as everyone liked to call him. They'd worked together a couple of times before and he was a force to be reckoned with. In this career she'd learned that you needed to trust the person next to you, and Hondo made it easy. He had a natural reliability about him.

Christina Alonso waved, saying, "I don't know who's happier to have another woman on board—me or Street."

Street gave Reagan an easy smile—all dimples. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Chris," he replied, using Alonso's nickname.

Hondo cracked a grin, showcasing his beautiful white teeth. _He_ knew what Alonso was talking about.

Just by looking at the young officer, Reagan had a vague idea as well. Street had "player" written all over him. A man who looked like that could have almost any woman he wanted. He wouldn't have her, though. She made it a point not to date co-workers—except for that one time. Or that other time. Okay, so her track record wasn't as squeaky clean as she wanted it to be, but being surrounded by hundreds of men in peak physical condition on a daily basis didn't make things any easier.

Starting now, she would try to do better.

Besides, these guys (and girl) were S.W.A.T. It was a position she took very seriously. Her job as a "hopper" allowed her to slip into any role as needed. If someone on the force called in sick, she would give their partner a hand for the day. She'd learned pretty quickly which beats were the best and which were the worst. Occasionally, a spot would open up on one of the task forces and she'd help out for however long they needed, sometimes weeks.

This S.W.A.T job would last months—until Tan was done caring for his sick mother. Reagan didn't know all the details, but that was okay. She was expected to show up and not ask questions—just do what was needed.

"Cassie needs some refreshers, as it's been a while since her last S.W.A.T. fill in. I need you all to help her go through the training exercises. We'll have a timed run-through next week, so be ready," Cortez announced.

Everyone agreed and then began to disperse. Luca came around the table and said to Reagan, "Hey, Chris and I were about to go a few rounds on the mat. You in?"

As Reagan nodded, Street walked over to join them. "Count me in." He flashed another charming smile.

Playfully Reagan shook her head and trailed Chris into the women's locker room, where they changed into exercise leggings and athletic shoes. They met the guys in the gym, setting their water bottles and phones on a bench by the training mat. Chris paired off with Luca, which left Street with Reagan—not to her surprise.

As the other two began to spar, Reagan stood across from Street. He held out his hand and said, "I'm Jim, by the way."

She took his hand, as if to shake it, and then pulled him toward her, flipping him onto the mat. He groaned on impact and didn't move for a moment. Then, he chuckled. "Or you can call me your bitch. Whatever works."

Reagan smiled, flipping her long black French braid over her shoulder. She offered him her hand and started to help him up, but he turned the tables on her, tossing her over him and then spinning around to put her in a choke hold. She used her self-defense training to break his grasp and they rolled, struggling for control until she came out on top. She patted his chest and stood with a smirk.

* * *

As she stopped to get a drink of water, Deacon strode over to the mat, helping Jim to his feet.

"Where'd you guys find her?" the younger man asked quietly, shaking his head. "I think I'm in love."

Deacon chuckled and gave Street's shoulder a squeeze. "Down boy." He approached Reagan, noticing her full upper lip and the slight flare of her nostrils as she took labored breaths. Her dark brown eyes sparkled with amusement and he imagined that his probably looked the same as he said, "Impressive. Though, Street's still the new guy. Think you've got what it takes to put down a seasoned vet?"

"Seasoned is an understatement," Street quipped from nearby. "More like senior citizen."

Deacon was used to the old man jabs by now. His graying hair didn't do him any favors in that department, but he'd grown to like the look. It suited his distinguished role as 20-David, leader of his team.

"Are you implying that you want a piece of this?" Reagan asked as she put down her water.

Deacon, no matter how hard he tried to be a gentleman, couldn't help but read into her statement the wrong way. He was a man, after all. He knew what she'd meant, though. He nodded.

She shrugged. "Okay, boss. Let's go."

He put Reagan's file next to her stuff on the bench—he'd been browsing it since their introduction—and did a few quick stretches. Reagan rolled her shoulders and put up her hands in a ready-stance.

Deacon came at her low, throwing her over his shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his neck in a reverse choke hold, but he expected it, grabbing her leg and twisting her around to his front with ease. She did have some weight to her—clearly all muscle from the way she clenched his head between her thighs. It was a suggestive move, to say the least, but self-defense wasn't supposed to be pretty. You did whatever you had to do to survive.

Deacon fell to his knees, forcing her to readjust her position, which gave him enough time to come down on top of her. He pinned her hands above her head and put his full weight onto her hips.

Now who was being suggestive?

Reagan struggled against him, but, even though she was tough, she was no match for his strength. Her chest heaved from exertion and Deacon's dark eyes wandered for a millisecond. She threw her head forward, but he dodged it, keeping his hands firmly in place. He smiled.

"Nice moves, rook."

She sighed and he moved off of her. "Not good enough, though. Give me a week and then you owe me a rematch," she said, mirroring his smile.

"Just a week?" he asked as his smile widened. "You're on."

Luca clapped his hands together from where he'd been watching next to the mat. "Who wants to start taking bets? I've got ten on Cassie."

Hondo laughed, having just joined the spectacle at the tail end. "Don't start with that shit, Luca. You know the boss man can't handle it if we all start betting against him."

"So you're saying your money's on the rook too, then?" Luca asked.

Before Hondo could reply, Deacon put out his hands in question. "Seriously, guys? I'm right here. Where's the faith?"

"Oh, I've seen her in action," Hondo said. "I'm chalking this one up to a little bit of rust. We'll get our money's worth next week."

Deacon just shook his head while Reagan and Chris laughed at their playful bickering.

* * *

At the end of the day, Chris showed Reagan which locker she'd be using. She also mentioned that they were all going out for drinks that night, since they weren't on call. Reagan thanked her for the invitation and agreed to meet them around 8 p.m.

She walked into O'Malley's just after the hour, dressed in tight jean shorts, Converse and a loose tee. She'd let her hair down, wavy from the braid that day. She spotted the crew sitting at a booth in the back corner and made her way over.

"'Ey! The rook's here!" Luca announced, his voice just a little louder than the others' cheers.

She grinned at their enthusiasm, glad to be fitting in so quickly. That had never been much of an issue for her, but these teams were tight-knit. If everyone didn't mesh, things went to shit, and fast. She'd seen it happen to other people on the force, but had luckily avoided it herself. Besides, it was part of her job description to work well with just about anybody at the drop of a hat.

Chris scooted over so Reagan could sit next to her. Before she sat down, she could feel someone's eyes on her, not surprised to catch Street checking out her bare legs. She'd almost not worn shorts, but it was a hot summer night, so pants were out of the question. She kept her gaze on him, waiting for him to look up and find out that he was caught. When he did, he barely reacted—just smiled, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.

Okay, so he was cute, and she liked to flirt. She'd draw the line at hanky panky, though. The another-notch-on-my-belt type didn't do it for her. But that didn't mean she couldn't admire the view in the meantime.

When Reagan got comfortable in her seat, she looked across the table at Deacon. He gave her a pleasant smile and said, "As team leader, your first drink is on me. What can I get you?"

"A bottle of Corona would be great. Thank you," she said as he rose to go over to the bar.

"Next week, after our timed run-through, drinks are on you," Street said, toasting her with his beer. "I've paid my dues. You guys can't call me the rookie anymore."

"You all realize I'm not new to this, right?" Reagan asked, laughing. "This is my fifth time filling in a S.W.A.T. position."

"But not on _this_ team, so you're the rook," he responded, and shrugged. He took a swig from his bottle and let his teasing gaze linger with hers just long enough to cause a flutter in her belly.

Deacon returned with Reagan's beer and placed it front of her. She thanked him, enjoying the cold, refreshing liquid as it traveled down her throat. While she drank, she listened to crazy stories about the team, mainly told by Luca. They all laughed and had a good time.

When exhaustion began to set in, Reagan made a final trip to the restroom. When she stepped out into the cramped hallway, Street was there, leaning against the wall with a motorcycle helmet in hand. He stood up straight and gave her his best grin, his adorable dimples all too familiar now.

"If you're not up for driving, I can take you home. I've got an extra helmet."

 _I'll bet you do_ , she thought with an inward giggle. "That's okay. I'm good to drive. Maybe another time."

"Yeah?" he asked, seeming surprised that she hadn't completely shut him down. "Okay... Have a good night, then. I'll see you in the A.M."

He continued to smile at her and she returned it, looking up at him from under her long lashes. But then she saw Deacon coming up the hallway. He eyed them with clear suspicion, and that was not the impression she wanted to give on her first day.

Street must have seen her expression change because his smile melted away and he glanced over his shoulder. He threw her a quick nervous look and turned toward Deacon.

"Hey, boss. I'm heading out. See you tomorrow."

"See you, Street. Careful riding that thing."

As they exchanged a casual fist bump, Street said, "Always am."

Deacon chuckled, as if Street had told a joke. Apparently, there was more to that story.

After Street left, Deacon approached her, his hands in his pockets. "You heading out?"

"Yeah, I'm beat."

"If you wait a minute I'll walk you out. This isn't the safest part of town."

"You don't think I can handle myself?" she asked, but kept her tone light.

Deacon glanced at the floor and then back at her. He held her gaze with such intensity that it nearly took her breath away. His brown eyes were almost black in the poorly lit hallway—she was having trouble not getting lost in them.

Finally, he asked, "Did you hold back on me today?"

Before responding, she lightly licked her lips and saw him follow the movement with those beautiful eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and she wondered what the hell was happening right now. He was her _boss_. Literally the last person she should be looking at like this. But he was doing it too, right? Or was she just imagining it?

Shaking herself out of the trance, Reagan curved her lips into a faint smile. "Guess you'll have to wait until next week to find out."

Deacon laughed, no longer making eye contact with her. "Fair enough." He sighed. "So do you want me to walk you to your car?"

She almost thought better of it, but found herself nodding. "Can't hurt. Thanks."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed and started following along! It's exciting to be the first story for the reboot and I'm glad other people are excited too!**

 **So here's a new chapter to get us through this lonely Thursday night. I'm already having withdrawals! I can't wait for the show to come back from break...**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Reagan followed Deacon outside, the humid air smelling of cigarette smoke and car exhaust. It should have grossed her out, but she found it oddly comforting. She loved summer nights in the city. Always had. She'd lived in LA her whole life and never wanted to go anywhere else. She loved the excitement and vitality it emitted. Her job did allow her to see the bad side of things, but she knew there was good, too.

And that good came in the form of people like Deacon Kay. She didn't know him very well, but she was pretty skilled at reading people. He was a good man right down to his core. He wouldn't compromise it for anyone or anything. It always made her job easier when she worked with people like him.

Reagan glanced over at Deacon as they rounded the corner, moving toward the parking lot. He looked back and gave her a slight smile, one-hundred percent gentleman. There was something about his eyes, though. So dark and perceptive. Her heart did a little flutter every time he looked at her.

What the hell was that about?

She tried to brush it off as they walked along in companionable silence. He was a nice, respectable, trustworthy man. That was it. He was easy company.

"So tell me something that isn't in that file of yours," he said, his keys jingling from where they hung off his index finger.

See? Nice.

"Well…you already know that I grew up here. My dad was a deadbeat and my mom worked two jobs to keep food on the table for me and my little brother. I didn't know I wanted to be a cop until one helped my mom after a run-in with dear ol' dad. I haven't seen him since. I don't know where he is and I don't care. Too much baggage so far?"

Deacon chuckled softly. "We've all got it."

She playfully narrowed her eyes on him. "I'm not sure if that's reassuring."

He shook his head. "Believe me, I've heard worse. I'm not sure how much you know about Street, but I'm fairly certain he has you beat—not that it's a competition or anything."

Reagan laughed. It probably wasn't appropriate to laugh at people's suffering, but it beat crying over it. "What's his deal anyway? Does he flirt with everything that moves?"

"Not quite. Only the pretty ones."

She smiled at him. She wasn't sure if he had meant to compliment her, but she'd take it, and try not to read into it at the same time.

As they approached Reagan's car, an aqua-blue convertible with a black soft-top, Deacon let out a low whistle.

"What is that? A 1970 Chevelle?"

"72', but they look about the same," she replied, unlocking the door. "My grandfather left it to me when he passed. I consider it my most prized possession."

"I don't blame you," he said as his eyes roamed over the sleek vehicle. "She's a beauty."

"Thanks. And thank you for walking me out. I had a good time tonight. I'm excited to get to work with you guys."

"I'm glad to hear it. The feeling is mutual," he said with a friendly grin. "Drive safe. See you tomorrow, Cassie."

She smiled and waved as he began to walk away backwards. "Goodnight, boss."

He returned the wave and then spun around, heading toward his police-issued Charger in the next row.

Reagan climbed into her car and put the key in the ignition. When she turned it, nothing happened. Frowning, she tried once more. Still nothing.

 _Well, that can't be good._

She got out and walked to stand in front of the hood. That was when she noticed something was off. The usually flawless front was scraped and bent. When she went to pull the lever to lift the hood, the whole thing opened without any resistance, revealing a gaping hole instead of her car battery. Other parts were gone as well.

Groaning, she slammed the hood closed, but it made a dull thud and popped up again, ajar. Clearly, someone had pried it open and broken the latch.

 _"Awesome,"_ she muttered, cursing to herself.

"Something wrong?" a voice asked from behind her.

Reagan jumped, so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't heard someone come up behind her. She spun around and saw Deacon, much to her relief. He was right—this wasn't a good area—and she wasn't crazy about the idea of being mugged like her poor car.

"I guess someone else liked the look of my baby a little too much."

"Parts missing?" he asked.

"Yup." She sighed and took her phone out of her back pocket.

"You're lucky they didn't take the whole car."

"Can't say I'm feeling especially 'lucky' right now, but, yeah," she said with a smirk. She scrolled through her phone and found the number for a tow truck, explaining her plan to him as she went. "After they drop it off at the garage, I'll just catch a ride home."

Deacon shook his head. "No way. When they get here I'll take you home. As Luca would say, 'No officer left behind.'"

She smiled. "Again, thank you. You really don't have to, but I appreciate it."

"It's what we do. I know you'd do the same if roles were reversed."

She nodded in agreement as she dialed for the tow truck.

An hour later, Reagan rode with Deacon to her house. She noted how clean his vehicle was inside and out. It still had a new car smell, but was mixed with something else slightly musky, most likely his cologne of choice. She kept her own car relatively clean, as it was her pride and joy, but her house was another story. She wouldn't be letting him inside, that much was for sure.

"So you've told me your family history, which I knew a good deal of," he began, "but you still haven't told me about yourself—the Reagan part."

She took a deep breath and watched the passing street lights reflect off his hood as she said, "There isn't much to tell. I work a lot so I don't have loads of free time. When I do have time off, I like to read or go surfing." She paused and pursed her lips in thought. "Uh, every Friday night I go over to my elderly neighbor's house and watch _Blue Bloods_. We can't get enough of Tom Selleck and his mustache."

He laughed, and she continued, rambling whatever came to mind.

"Um…I love pizza. And coffee. So much so that it's probably unhealthy. I despise onions…and my favorite color is orange. Have I covered everything?" They both chuckled. "Your turn."

Deacon raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath, letting it out before saying, "Well, okay…I don't get asked this question very often. I'm usually the one doing the asking."

Reagan smiled and swept her hand toward him, and then waited for him to think of some answers.

He cleared his throat. "Okay. Hockey and fishing, _Game of Thrones_ , tacos, also coffee, hate tomatoes, and love the color blue."

"Very nice," she said with a nod. "In that case, we should have coffee together sometime."

 _Shit._ Did she really say that out loud? She'd meant it as a simple observation, but it totally sounded like a come on. Deacon didn't seem to notice, though—or didn't show it.

"Sure. How do you take it? Black?"

"Is there any other way?" she asked, pretending to be confused.

He laughed. "My thoughts exactly."

They pulled into Reagan's short driveway and Deacon peered through the windshield at her small house, with its turquoise front door and flaking white trim. Man, she really needed to repaint that...

"Right on the beach, huh?"

"Yeah, I pay dearly for it, but it's worth it. I run on the beach every morning, go surfing on my days off. It's great."

"Sounds great. I'm embarrassed to say that I've lived here almost my whole life and I've never gone surfing. Luca keeps trying to get me to go, but it never works out."

"Really? Well, I'd be happy to take you out sometime."

 _Seriously? Another come on?_

"Ya know, get you on some of those famous Cali waves," she clarified. She could actually feel her cheeks turning pink. Luckily, it was dark inside the car.

"That'd be awesome. And maybe Luca could come along so he doesn't feel left out."

"Sure." _Definitely not a date,_ she thought with relief.

"So, I'll see you in the morning? 7 a.m. good for you?"

"I thought I needed to be there at 8..."

"You do, but I'm going to be here at 7 to pick you up," he said, smiling. "Pretty sure your car won't be ready by then."

"I have a feeling that if I say no, you're still going to be here tomorrow."

"You would be correct."

"Okay, then. I'll see you bright and early. Thanks again, boss."

He gave her a wave as she exited the car, and waited until she was inside her house before he pulled out of the driveway.

Reagan kicked off her shoes and plugged her phone into the charger. It wasn't until she reached her tiny deck and heard the waves crashing out back that she realized she'd been imagining Deacon in board shorts and nothing else.

 _So not appropriate!_ she screamed inside her head. Seriously. She needed to stop whatever this was. Deacon was her boss. Her _brand-new_ boss. She had to work with him for the next few months. Professionalism and focus were key here. She couldn't screw this up, especially when lives were on the line. From now on, she would put her personal feelings aside and not let them interfere in any way.

* * *

The next day, Deacon arrived at Reagan's and she didn't waste any time coming out to meet him. When she got into the car, he motioned to the cup holders between them.

"Figured you could use a pick-me-up. It's from this little place down the road from my apartment. They brew the best dark roast around."

Reagan picked up the coffee cup on her side and put it under her nose. It smelled absolutely divine. She took a sip and closed her eyes. It tasted even better.

"Thank you," was all she could get out between sips.

"Anytime," he said, smiling as he backed out of the driveway. He lifted his own cup to his mouth and she snickered beside him.

"Who's Danielle?"

He started, almost spilling coffee onto his lap. He glanced at the written name and phone number on his cup, and mumbled, "Not again..."

"Oh this I have to hear."

Deacon sighed. "The owner of the coffee shop has been trying to set me up with his daughter for months. I've met her. She seems nice. But, I don't know. It's...weird."

"And how well does he know _you_? You could be a kidnapper/murderer/rapist."

Deacon shot her an unimpressed glance. "He knows I'm SWAT. Apparently, that automatically makes me trustworthy and great husband material."

Reagan shrugged. "If anything, it probably makes it worse."

"So you struggle with that too?"

"Every relationship I've had since joining the force has ended because he couldn't handle my hours, the risks and the overabundance of testosterone around me."

"Same here...minus the testosterone part."

Reagan wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Are you sure about that?"

He just laughed.

* * *

Deacon changed out of his full uniform at the end of the day, opting for the simple black SWAT t-shirt and cargo pants. He'd picked up a call with 50-David while Cassie did more training with Hondo and the team. Everything had gone smoothly on the call and they'd apprehended the perps. No body bags required, thank God. Though, one of the responding officers had been hit by a bullet, but it was only a graze, and was treated on site.

Hondo, along with Street and Luca, entered the locker room and clapped Deacon on the back.

"Hey, boss. How'd it go out there today?"

"Good. Missed you guys, though."

Luca grinned. "Aww, we missed you too! Man, you should've seen Cassie today. We went out to the shooting range and she whupped the new guy on 70-David's team. Won me twenty bucks."

"Do you guys have to bet on everything?" Deacon asked, laughing.

"You're just saying that because you always lose," Street said as he rummaged through his locker. When he found whatever it was he'd been looking for, he stood and turned toward Deacon. "Seriously, though. Can we keep her?"

"Don't let Tan hear you say that," he retorted, but what he really wanted to say was, _Lay off Cassie and take a step back, Street._ He hadn't liked the way the other man had looked at her at the bar the night before. All eyes and dimples, and to make it even worse, she didn't seem to mind.

So, okay, Deacon wasn't completely innocent in this whole thing either. He hadn't expected her to wear such short shorts, displaying her gorgeous, muscular legs. It was amazing how different people could look in and out of work, especially women when they let their hair down and put on extra makeup. Not that he preferred them that way. He'd take real over fake any day, and that was hard to come by in Southern California.

The thing that really got him, though, was the real personality that came along with Cassie's looks. Her vandalized car hadn't been a good reason to spend time together, but he'd still enjoyed it. She made him laugh and was brutally honest—she didn't hold back or sensor her past. Another trait that was hard to come by.

"I think he'd agree," Street said, knocking Deacon out of his deep thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Tan. I think he'd agree that we should keep Cassie."

"Oh, right." He let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, probably."

As Street continued on with his high praise, Deacon zoned out again. It was too soon to sort out his feelings for the new girl and what they meant, but his one hope was that they all could keep it professional.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to WishfulThinker and all of my guest reviewers! I love the play-by-play reviews - you guys crack me up. :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The rest of the week flew by. Reagan's car still wasn't out of the shop, much to her chagrin. Deacon was kind enough to pick her up every day while the garage waited for special parts to come in to finish the repairs. That was the only time they were able to joke around and get to know each other. Once they got to work, the brutal training resumed. She loved it though—the fast pace, pumping adrenaline, pushing herself and testing her limits.

It was what made her look forward to her job every morning when she woke up. That and saving lives. She wanted to make a difference, like the officer who had helped her mom so many years before. Pay it forward, right?

The day of their timed run-though arrived. She felt ready. She'd done this before.

The course remained a mystery until their SWAT truck pulled up outside a local community college. Since it was summertime, and a Sunday, no one was on campus, giving them full access. When they exited the truck, Captain Cortez greeted them with a computer tablet in hand.

"Today you're responding to a school shooting. There are an unknown number of assailants, but we've confirmed at least one." She flipped the screen toward them and a grainy surveillance video showed a young white male walking down a hallway, dark hoodie up, and an automatic weapon clutched in his hands. "Shots were reportedly fired in the East Wing, which is where this camera is set up. Number of casualties is also unknown. He may be holding hostages. That's all we know."

"Okay, you heard her," Deacon said as he turned toward his team. "Cassie, what would be standard operating procedure in this situation?"

She cleared her throat as she studied the video once more. "Well, most shootings involving a white male end up being a solo job, but as we know from Columbine, it could very well be two or more. We always have to assume that there are more." She glanced at the captain and asked, "Are any of the entrances armed with explosives?"

"Not that we can see, but we can't say for sure."

"All right, so we need another way in. Maybe a service entrance?" Reagan suggested.

"There's a loading dock for the food court, just off the East Wing," Cortez replied.

"Perfect. So you and Luca," Reagan said, pointing at Hondo, "could go in there and get eyes on our known shooter. He might have a way of communicating with other assailants, if there are any. Then we'll know what we're up against."

As Deacon nodded in approval, Hondo flashed his flawless smile and snapped together the chin straps on his helmet. "Good job, Cas. That's what I would've suggested."

Street nudged her. "Keep it up and you'll put him out of the job."

Reagan laughed. "Nah, I'm good. Being in charge isn't always what it's cracked up to be. Just tell me where to go and I've got your back."

"Oh you know I've got your back," he said when the other team members turned away to ready their gear. He winked.

Reagan rolled her eyes, but still gave him a smile.

The team, minus Hondo and Luca, joined Cortez by the central control van, where they were able to watch the live stream from the two men's helmet cams. Luca used a janitor key to open the service entrance door next to the loading dock. The two men slipped in and continued through the kitchen to the food court. Everything remained quiet as they entered the hallway in the East Wing. They could hear yelling coming from one of the classrooms. Luca attempted to open the door of a neighboring room, but the door was locked.

"School's on lockdown. All of the occupied classrooms should be inaccessible," Cortez reminded them through their earpieces.

 _"Roger that,"_ Hondo murmured.

The twosome stopped just outside of the classroom in question, and listened.

 _"We've got at least three assailants. He's talking on a radio…he addressed them as Brad and Greg. It's hard to tell who is who though,"_ Hondo said quietly.

Meanwhile, Luca took out his snake cam and eased it around the corner, through the open doorway. The video was fed back to the team while Luca viewed it on his wrist screen. _"Our young white male, along with ten hostages: one teacher and nine students,"_ he relayed.

Hondo spoke now. _"We're close to the exit. I don't see any devices on the doors."_

Deacon acknowledged that and then turned to the remaining team members. "I'll take Chris in the North Wing. Street and Cassie, you take the South Wing. Proceed with caution, guys. Head on a swivel, right?"

As Reagan double-checked her weapon, which was loaded with tiny paintballs, Deacon stepped toward her.

"You good to go?" he asked.

She glanced up and locked onto his steady gaze, his eyes appearing like melted chocolate under the bright sun. She managed to find her breath and said, "Always."

He smirked and playfully clapped the top of her helmet, a gesture of support that she welcomed as adrenaline flooded her system.

She turned and followed Street to the South Wing's main entrance. He opened the door enough for her to go through, and then shadowed her, easing the door shut so that it made no noise. They proceeded down the hallway, footsteps light on the linoleum floor. Most classroom doors were closed and locked, as they were supposed to be in this kind of situation. There was no one inside today, but it all needed to be as real as possible. Any time they came across an open door, Reagan deemed the room clear while Street watched her back—just like he said he would.

As they neared the end of the corridor, voices came through their earpieces from the other team members.

Deacon. _"We've got eyes on assailant number two."_

Hondo. _"We're still holding at one."_

Deacon again. _"Cassie, Street, report."_

"Negative," Reagan whispered. "All quiet here."

They rounded the corner and came face-to-face with another young man in a hoodie, taking them all by surprise. The assailant raised his weapon as Street popped two paintball rounds into his chest. He sank to his knees and lay down on the floor, pretending to be dead.

"Number three neutralized," Street said, his voice a bit breathless.

 _"Move in,"_ Deacon ordered, which meant that his team and Hondo's would take out the two other threats.

Luca. _"Number one neutralized."_

Deacon. _"Number two neutralized. Do one last sweep and then we'll call it."_

Reagan and Street advanced forward. Movement flickered in the corner of her eye and she turned, catching sight of another assailant in the adjacent doorway—and Street was right in his line of fire.

"Street, down!" she yelled.

He ducked and she fired off three rounds, but not before receiving one in the side of her vest. The blue paintball hit her with a dense "pop," delivering a kick that surprised her, even though she knew what it felt like to get hit by a real bullet.

Deacon. " _What's going on?"_

"Number four neutralized," Reagan announced.

Street righted himself and kicked away the assailant's weapon, making sure he was indeed "dead." Then, he turned toward Reagan, dropping his gaze to the blue spatter on her ribs.

"Cassie's been hit," he said, eyeing her with disappointment.

 _"Wait, what?"_ Deacon asked, his tone sharp.

"I'm fine," she said. "I caught it in my vest."

Street shook his head. "You and I both know you'd be down from that, with a bunch of busted ribs too."

She sighed in defeat. "Okay…I'm down."

 _"Street, get Cassie out. We'll finish up here,"_ Deacon said. Reagan could have been reading into it too much, but his voice was huskier than normal. Certainly, he wasn't happy with their current predicament.

"Come on," Street said, and slung her arm around his neck.

"I can walk on my own you know."

"Act, Cas, _act_. Even these guys can do it." He gestured at one of the assailants on the floor, a man whom she recognized from 50-David's team. The man smiled faintly. Street nudged him with the tip of his boot. "Hey, don't do that. You're dead."

"Shut it, Street," the man mumbled.

Street did shut up, but he did so with a smile.

When they got outside, Reagan sat on the bumper of their truck and sipped from her water bottle. Full SWAT gear wasn't ideal during an LA summer. Sweat trickled down her brow and she took a moment to remove her helmet, knowing she had unflattering helmet-hair.

The last four team members approached them, Deacon in front. He reached out and brushed his thumb along the blue paint at her side. Her vest was thick but Reagan swore she could feel every trace of his finger.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, brows drawn together in concern.

He honest to God looked terrified. She almost reminded him that it wasn't real, but thought better of it.

"She saved my life, that's what happened," Street said, smiling. "Fourth assailant came at me from the side. Cassie took him out before he could take me out."

"What happened to 'head on a swivel'?" Deacon asked him, scowling deeply.

That wiped the smile off Street's face. "Yeah, I know. Thankfully Cassie's was."

"Yeah, lucky her. She got shot," Luca reminded him.

Deacon pulled his hand back and rubbed the paint between his fingers, his eyes scanning Reagan's face. He still looked scared, so she offered him a reassuring smile. "I'm okay, boss. We did it. We got it done."

He didn't reply. He just sighed out a heavy breath, which in turn, made him look tired.

"She's right about that," Cortez said as she joined the group. "Your time was good. Having four assailants is unusual, and you guys—and gals—handled it well. Not perfectly, but better than most. Commander Hicks and I are signing off on your team. Congrats." She gave them all a smile, lingering on Hondo for just a second longer than everyone else.

Reagan exchanged a knowing look with Chris, but the men seemed oblivious.

Street pointed at Reagan's wound and quipped, "You bleed blue, rook."

She scoffed. "You know it."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't be bleeding anything," Deacon said, and then walked away, leaving the group in tense silence.

* * *

Back at HQ, Reagan and Chris changed into their street clothes. No one else was around, so Reagan turned to her and asked, "What was with Deacon today?"

Chris stuffed some clothes into her bag as she said, "You noticed that too?"

"Is he normally that intense out on the job?"

Chris shook her head. "I mean, we all have our moments, but that was different."

Reagan paused, thinking that she shouldn't say this out loud, but she had to know. "Is he one of those guys who think that women can't handle the job as well as the men?"

 _"Deke?_ " Chris asked, eyes wide. " _Hell_ no! If anything, he'll stand up for you against those jerks. One time I scored poorly on my climbing eval and he wouldn't hear of it. He knew I was better than that. So no, that's not it at all."

Reagan held up her hands. "Sorry, I just had to ask. I've been there enough times…"

Chris nodded in understanding. She zipped up her bag and rested her hands on the rough material. She stared at Reagan, smiling.

The other woman stopped mid-motion. "What?"

"Can I tell you something? Between girls?"

"Sure..."

Chris's smile widened and her eyes narrowed as she said, "I've never seen Deacon look at anyone like how he looks at you."

A ruddy blush sprung into Reagan's cheeks, her skin turning hot. "Yeah, right. I think you're seeing things."

Chris laughed. "I am! I'm seeing that the boss might have a crush on the rook. Completely inappropriate, of course, but we can't help how we feel."

"I think you need to get your eyes checked," she replied, even though she loved every word that Chris was saying—and hated herself for it.

"Well, I know you saw what I saw earlier between Hondo and Cortez…"

"Okay, _that_ I did see!"

" _Thank you!_ They're been giving each other puppy dog eyes for the past six months, but nobody has said anything about it. I'd _totally_ support that match-up. It's too bad they haven't acted on it."

"Who says they haven't?" Reagan asked, grinning. "I'd bet $20 she's hittin' that."

"Man, you and Luca with the betting…"

Reagan laughed. "What can I say? It's fun. By the way, I haven't heard you disagree with me yet."

"That's because I don't…"

* * *

On the men's side, Deacon tossed his helmet into his locker with a loud thud.

"Hey, man. It's over now," Hondo said. "We got the OK from Hicks. Yeah, Cassie would've been injured, but we didn't lose her."

"A casualty may be acceptable by everyone else's standards, but not by mine. The new girl got shot. How can they possibly think we're ready?"

Street chimed in, saying, "Deke, you remember how I was in the beginning. Cassie's not like that. She's got a better head on her shoulders. She can handle this."

"Yeah, it's a good thing, or else we'd have two casualties on our hands."

Street stood in place, frowning. "Dude, what's your problem right now?"

"You want to know what my problem is?" Deacon asked, taking a step toward him. "I think you were too busy staring at the rook's ass instead of covering it."

" _Seriously?_ Then why'd you pair us up, then? Huh?"

Deacon pressed his finger into Street's chest as he said, "So that you could prove me wrong. I guess we can see how well that worked out."

"This is bullshit," Street muttered, swiping away Deacon's hand. He ripped off his gear, chucked his shirt into his locker, and then yanked on a clean one. He grabbed his bag and motorcycle helmet. Before he left, he said in passing to Hondo and Luca, "I'll see you guys at O'Malley's."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for the kind words, including those from my guest reviewers! Make sure to sign up for story alerts so that you know right when I update! :)**

 **This chapter is for my Team Street readers. Enjoy!**

* * *

Reagan caught a ride with Chris, arriving at O'Malley's just before the dinner rush. They walked along the shabby wooden floor and found their empty booth in the back. Chris took a seat.

"You may have gotten shot, but they're going to hold you to the free drinks tonight," she said before Reagan could sit down.

"I figured you'd say that. What do you want?" Reagan asked with resignation.

"We'll all take a beer to start. You can pick the brand."

Reagan put a hand to her chest. "Oh how kind of you," she said, her voice laced with thick sarcasm. She turned around before Chris could reply, and made her way over to the bar. The bartender, an overweight man with a white beard and faded Harley Davidson shirt, finished up with a customer and gave her his attention. He looked like a big, scary biker, but she knew that he was retired SWAT and treated the team like family.

"Hey, Cassie, how'd it go today?"

She hesitated before answering, shocked that he not only remembered her name, but that their test was today.

"Steel trap," he said, lightly knocking a fist against his head. "Drives my old lady crazy."

"You'd think she'd like it; her man remembering things."

"Well, when I use those things against her and she loses an argument, let's just say she's not a fan."

Reagan winced. "Yeah, you should just let her win. It's safer for everybody."

He chuckled, his rounded gut bouncing a little underneath the worn tee. "I'll work on that." He used his bar rag to wipe at an invisible wet spot on the counter, as he asked, "So how'd it go?"

She tried to sound upbeat, saying, "I took one in the vest but we passed."

He laughed again and reached into the beer cooler, grabbing a Corona. He popped the top and slid it over to her. "That's usually frowned upon. Try not to do that next time, when there are real bullets."

She nodded and took a sip from the glass bottle. "I'll work on that," she said, using his own words against him.

"So let me guess, you need me to start you a tab?"

"Yes, Charlie, that would be correct. Coronas all around."

"Oh, oh," he said, and pointed at her, smiling because she'd remember his name too.

She tapped her head and pointed back at him, returning the smile.

Sensing a new presence, Reagan glanced at the door as Street walked in. She gave him a small wave and he tipped up his chin in response. He started to walk toward her and the door opened behind him, revealing Luca, Hondo and Cortez. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer, searching for their last team member, but the door closed and stayed that way.

Street approached the counter and said hey to Charlie, picking up one of the open beers in front of Reagan.

"Where's Deacon?" she asked.

He shrugged, not making eye contact with her as he walked away to join Chris at the table.

Hondo heard her unanswered question, and said, "I don't know if he's coming. Sorry, Cas."

Watching Hondo and Cortez follow Street, she turned to Luca. "What the hell, man?"

He sighed, appearing far more serious than usual. "Deac and Street got into it back at HQ. It wasn't pretty…"

Reagan mirrored his sigh. "Let me guess, he's still pissed that Street and I fucked up today."

Luca shook his head. "I don't think he's mad at you in particular, but…yeah, something like that."

"Awesome. Just fantastic," she muttered, before downing more of her Corona.

"Don't worry about it, Cas. Just have a good time tonight. You've earned it."

"Thanks, Luca," she said, patting and squeezing one of his muscular shoulders.

He helped her grab the remaining drinks and they packed into the booth with everyone else.

Throughout the evening, Street hardly looked at her and it felt like there was a gaping hole without Deacon there. She still had a good time, but it wasn't the same vibe as their first night out. The addition of Captain Cortez—Jess—fell right in line with that assessment. Though, she did like spending time with the other woman, and enjoyed the sight of Hondo with his arm around her. He could have been uncomfortable in the small booth—he was a big dude—but his other arm remained by his side. They were so cute it made her sick.

Getting up for a minute, Reagan strolled over to the jukebox and began to flip through Charlie's albums. A dollar bill appeared next to her face and she followed the lean, muscular arm until her gaze rested on Street's dimpled cheeks.

"A song on me. Ya know, for saving my life today."

"How generous of you," she said, and snatched the wrinkled bill from his fingers.

"Pick something good. Slow, but not too slow. Classic, but—"

"Would you like your dollar back?" she asked.

He laughed. "Sorry. It's all you." He paused before saying, "No pressure."

Reagan shot him a smirk and then concentrated once more on choosing a suitable song. Finally, she found what she wanted. She inserted Street's dollar bill and pressed the buttons for her selection.

The soft, familiar chords of "Change the World" by Eric Clapton filled their corner of the bar and Reagan turned to lean against the machine, arching her brow at Street.

He nodded, lips pressed together, and then smiled. "Very good choice. Do you know what this means now?"

"What?"

He reached for the hand at her side and started to back up slowly, pulling her with him. "You owe me a dance."

"I knew there'd be a catch! Remind me never to save you again," she said, trying to take back her hand, laughing all the while.

"Oh no you don't," he said, and urged her closer, resting his right hand on her waist. His smile dimmed for a moment. "Really, though, I'll stop if you want."

It was then that Reagan realized she was already dancing with him. Her left hand had curled around his broad shoulder and their opposite hands were clasped together. She'd leaned into him like her body couldn't stand to be away from him for another second.

"We're cool," she said quietly, stunned by the close proximity of his brown eyes, which had shades of dark blue at their edges—something she'd never noticed before.

They got lost in each other's eyes for a moment, their bodies swaying in time with the music. Eventually, Street came out of it, blinking. He smiled and pulled back. She almost protested, but instead, was spun around and glided back into his arms. She grinned, tongue in cheek.

"You are smooth, Jim. I'll give you that."

He gave her an easy smile and spun her again, this time drawing her back against his chest. She glanced at him over her shoulder and he tipped his head forward, resting his nose against the outer edge of her cheek. Her chest exploded with butterflies, which caught her off guard.

 _Definitely smooth, Jim…_

When he turned her around again so that she was facing his front, he moved until their bodies were flush against each other and their cheeks were touching. Reagan could feel the hard plane of his body, all sculpted abs and pecs. His cheek was warm and scratchy.

She suddenly remembered her teammates and wondered what they thought of this spectacle. To her surprise, Hondo and Cortez were dancing right next to them, lost in their own world. Reagan tapped Street's shoulder and he followed her eyes to look at the other couple. Snickering, he peered beyond them and removed the hand from her waist to motion across the room.

"Get out here!" he mouthed to Luca and Chris.

Always game for anything, they both laughed and got up from the booth, dancing together in a flourish of movements.

Street replaced his hand, using his thumb to gently caress her skin through the thin material of her shirt.

"Thank you for coming out tonight. It means a lot to me," she said.

"Of course," he said softly. "I wouldn't have missed it."

"I am a little bummed that Deacon didn't show up. It's not the same without him."

Street's expression fell, but only slightly. "It's probably better that he's not here. Tomorrow morning should be nice and awkward."

"What happened?" she asked, her dark gaze beseeching him to tell her the whole truth.

He cleared his throat and glanced away. "The short of it? Deacon accused me of checking you out instead of doing my job."

Reagan swallowed hard as she processed that. Finally, she said, "You were focused today. I can vouch for that. Hell, shooter three probably would have taken me out if you hadn't shot first."

"Nah, you would've had him. And you don't need to vouch for me. I'm a big boy. I can clean up my own messes," he said, pursing his lips with a faint wink.

"In that case, it's probably a good thing Deacon's not here to see this. I don't think it would do us any favors."

He shrugged. "While we're at it, why don't you let me take you home?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, stopping in place.

"Not like _that_ , Cas. I owe you a motorcycle ride, remember? You don't have a car. I'm simply offering you a ride home."

Reagan stared at Street, studying his uncertain yet hopeful expression. She took a deep breath and then said, "Oh all right."

The song ended and Street dropped his arms, allowing Reagan to step back.

"Let me settle my tab and I'll meet you outside, okay?"

He nodded, smiling now as he joined the others to say good night.

Reagan walked over to Charlie and handed him her credit card.

"First round's on me," he said as he swiped her card. "Since you took a bullet for your team."

"Hey, thanks, Charlie! If that's all it takes for free drinks, I should get shot more often," she joked.

He held out her card, but when she grabbed for it, he pulled it just out of reach. "Don't make it a habit."

She laughed. "I know, I know. Good night, Charlie."

He gave her a nod and she headed for the door. Before she left, she threw a peace sign across the room, which was returned by her other team members.

Walking outside, she discovered Street already at the curb with his Ducati running. He shucked off his leather jacket and held it out, allowing her to slip her arms into the sleeves. They went past her hands so she pushed them up to her wrists. The leather was warm and smelled like his fresh scent. He passed her his extra helmet, a black full-face, and then put on his own.

"Sorry, you get my bag," he said, and eased it onto her back.

"That's fine," she said, tightening the straps.

He straddled the bike, got his balance, and then motioned for her to get on.

Reagan climbed onto the back and sat forward, wrapping her arms around his middle. His firm stomach flexed beneath her hands as she grasped the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice muffled by the helmets.

"Yup!" she hollered.

"Hold on!"

She increased her grip and they took off like a shot. He whizzed through yellow lights and leaned deeply into sharp corners. It seemed like she barely had time to admire the view before they arrived at her house. He parked in the driveway and waited for her to get off.

As she removed her helmet, the bag and his jacket, Street turned off the bike. He took off his helmet and set everything on the seat.

"What'd you think?" he asked.

"It was terrifying. I loved it," she said with a smile.

He laughed. "And I took it easy on you!"

They slowly walked up her steps and stopped at the door. Street had his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cool ocean breeze. Reagan watched him, her hooded eyes teasing.

"You're not coming in."

He laughed again, but quieter this time. "I wasn't going to ask."

She leaned in a tad closer, feeling the dizzying effects of her alcohol consumption and their wild ride through the city. "Liar."

Street stared at her lips as he whispered, "You caught me."

Before Reagan could come to her senses, he closed the remaining space between them and, ever so gently, brushed his mouth against her parted lips. He touched a hand to her cheek, his fingertips just a whisper on her skin.

 _Deacon._

Reagan's eyes fluttered open and she stepped back, horrified by what she'd just done. The kiss had been beautiful in every way, but…

 _He's not Deacon._

Sucking in a breath, Reagan dared a glance at Street. He must have seen the uncertainty on her face, because he proceeded to hold up his hands with a frown.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I…I think we've both had a long day. Um… So… I'll see you tomorrow?"

Street nodded, tight-lipped as he backed down the steps.

"Bye," she said quietly.

"Night, Cas," he responded, and turned around to walk back to his bike.

Reagan unlocked her door and went inside, hearing the rev of his motorcycle as he left. She backed up against the wall and closed her eyes on a sigh.

 _What the hell, Reagan?_

She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she hoped it didn't mess up her friendship with Street. She liked him. A lot. But she was now realizing that she felt differently about Deacon. What was his problem anyway? He was always so friendly and collected. Even before the exercise today, he'd joked around with her. She'd seen things go sideways during other exercises, and her superiors had never reacted like that.

She couldn't go to sleep with all of this shit in her brain, especially since she would be reporting to work first thing in the morning.

She needed to talk to him.

Like right now.

Without thinking, she reached for her phone and requested an Uber.

The driver was outside within minutes. Reagan threw on a light jacket, locked her door, and jogged to the end of her driveway. When she got into the car, she told the young man behind the wheel where she wanted to go. She'd only been by Deacon's apartment building once, when he'd taken her to his favorite coffee shop before work one morning. He'd pointed it out as they'd driven by. She was surprised she even remembered where it was.

They pulled up outside of the tall white building and she leaned forward to pay her driver.

Standing at the main entrance, she asked herself again what the hell she was doing.

Reagan read the long list of tenants until she came across his name: **Kay - #402.** She pushed open the glass door and took the elevator to the fourth floor. She walked down the hall until she came to his number. With an unsteady hand, she knocked on the door.

After a few seconds, she heard the slide of a lock and the door opened. Deacon stood before her, dressed in a white tee and black Adidas track pants. His feet were bare and his hair mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. More than anything, though, he looked tired.

"Reagan? What are you doing here?"

She jammed her trembling hands into her coat pockets and forced herself to meet his searching gaze. "I needed to talk to you… Can I come in?"

In almost a stupor, he nodded and stepped back, allowing her to walk inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry to keep you guys waiting for so long! Thanks for reviewing! It's always a bright spot in my day.**

 **This chapter is for Team Deacon! Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Deacon closed the door as Reagan stood in his entryway, looking around. The apartment was nice, like way nicer than her place. It was an open-floor concept, minimally decorated with a theme of black, white and gray. It was masculine and clean and perfectly Deacon Kay.

He walked past her and into the kitchenette on their right. There were no dirty dishes or clutter on the countertops—just the necessities.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, opening the stainless steel fridge. "I've got beer, orange juice… I could make coffee."

"Just some water would be awesome. I had enough to drink at O'Malley's."

Deacon chuckled. "I hear ya. Hydration is important. I've learned that lesson one too many times," he said, giving her an empathetic smile as he retrieved a bottle of water from the bottom drawer.

She thanked him and broke the seal, taking a long pull from the crackling plastic bottle. Pausing, she said, "You've got a really nice place here. It looks like you take good care of it."

He shrugged and slipped his hands into the pockets of his track pants. "I'm not here enough to make it messy."

"Says you."

He flashed his beautiful smile and glanced at the floor. It was then followed by a slightly awkward silence. Reagan sighed as she tried to come up with what to say first.

"Do you wanna get some fresh air?" he asked.

She dropped her tense shoulders and smiled. "Yes, thank you."

"Follow me."

He stopped at the front door to slip on his Adidas sandals and grabbed his keys from the bowl nearby. They stepped into the hallway and he took a second to lock his door. When they made it to the elevator, Reagan expected him to press the down button, but instead, they went up.

"How was it tonight? Did you guys have a good time?" he asked, his demeanor turning slightly cold, or was it just her imagination?

She lifted one shoulder. "It was all right. Not the same without you…"

He smiled, but this time it appeared tight at the corners, as if forced. "You guys don't need the boss dragging down the mood."

She shook her head and held his wonderfully dark gaze. "That's never the case, Deke."

For whatever reason, he didn't reply.

The elevator doors opened and he led her down a short corridor, then out through another glass door, onto the roof of his apartment building. Strings of white lights hovered over a cushy patio set, but couldn't compete with the spectacular panorama of Los Angeles behind them.

Reagan pushed out a breath and smiled. "Deacon, this is beautiful."

He matched her smile, watching her take in the view. "It's what made me choose this place. I come up here whenever I can. It's…therapeutic."

"Definitely." Her voice still held a hint of awe.

Deacon sat on the couch that directly overlooked the city, and Reagan sat down next to him.

"So, what's on your mind?" he asked, getting comfortable as he turned to face her.

"I know things didn't go as planned today." She shrugged. "I did my best. I'm sorry it wasn't enough... I'm sorry I let you down."

Deacon shook his head. "I'm not faulting you for what happened. You protected another team member and we didn't lose any civilians. We usually call that a good day."

"Then why were you so upset? You not showing up to O'Malley's didn't leave me feeling all warm and fuzzy. All I sense is disappointment."

Deacon paused, glancing at his lap. "You're not too far off with that assessment."

Panic rose up into Reagan's throat and she choked it back down. "What are you talking about, Deke? I'm so confused right now…"

Finally, he looked at her, his eyes so dark that they appeared black in the dim lighting. "I did show up tonight. I saw you dancing with Street."

Reagan's lips parted, but he continued before she could speak.

"Team members are allowed to date, but I always advise against it. Street's a good cop—I know he'd take a bullet for us. But when it comes to women…"

"I'm not dating Street, and I won't." Reagan pushed out a shaky breath. "I flirt, okay? I have so few meaningful relationships in my life, it's just what I do to cope, to feel something a little bit deeper. My parents are gone, my brother runs with the wrong crowd… I don't make a lot of friends from this job. Acquaintances, sure. We talk about each other being family, and yes, I'd lay down my life for any of my fellow officers, but it's not the same. A romantic relationship? What's that again? I mean, don't even get me started on the last time I actually slept with someone…"

Deacon's gaze was hot on the side of her face. He cleared his throat, and Reagan closed her eyes, grimacing.

"I'm sorry. That was so not appropriate," she said, unable to meet his gaze.

He subtly waved it away in the universal gesture of "no problem."

Reagan sucked up her pride and said, "I do flirt, but I have a hard time getting close to people. It seems like all I do is disappoint them."

Deacon stared at her as conflicting emotions crossed over his face. "You didn't disappoint me. It's just that…when you got shot today, it suddenly occurred to me that you could get hurt on my watch. I always know that it's a possibility, but when Street said you were hit…" He glanced down and rubbed a callous on his palm with his thumb. "I was so _angry_."

Reagan sighed again in regret and Deacon's head snapped up. He held out his hand.

"Not at you. I was mad at Street for taking his head out of the game. I've seen him make some crazy shots. He should've had that. And I was angry with myself."

"Can we just…stop passing the blame?" she asked, reaching out to cover his hands with her own. She was pleased to discover that they were warm and a little rough to the touch.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Deacon looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't pull away his hands, even when she moved hers until their fingers were laced together.

Finally, he said, "I've only known you for a week, but I care about you, Reagan."

God, she loved it when he used her real name.

There was something about the way he said it. She was having a hard time getting a complete understanding of his feelings about her, like if she should be reading between the lines. The look in his eyes definitely said something, but if she misinterpreted it, she'd never live it down.

Reagan dared to lean a little closer, staring at his lips with intent. She could've been hallucinating, but she thought she saw him do the same.

 _To hell with it_.

When her lips landed on his, he stiffened but didn't pull back. It was as if he were waging an internal war. His lust must have won out, because he moved to deepen the kiss, cupping his hand around the back of her neck. He threaded his fingers into her loose braid and slanted his mouth over hers.

Reagan's body was on fire, every nerve ending electrified to his touch. She raked her fingertips across the short hairs on his head and moved closer until she was practically in his lap. Deacon took it a step further, shifting his hands to her backside and lifting her so that she straddled him. She moaned softly at the change in position, and he ground his hips up into her. She felt his desire at her center, fitting so perfectly that she couldn't stop another mewl of pleasure as it escaped from her mouth and disappeared into his.

Suddenly, Deacon stopped. He tipped his forehead against hers and grasped either side of her arms, his thumbs pressing gently into her biceps. Reagan watched him scrunch up his face right before he pulled away, holding her at arm's length. His impossibly dark eyes glittered from the illuminated cityscape behind them.

"I am so sorry, Reagan. We can't do this."

Panting quietly, she took a few seconds to catch her breath. She wondered if she was staring at a reflection of herself, because he looked just as disappointed as she felt.

With ease, Deacon lifted her up and put her back on her feet. Her legs threatened to buckle, but she succeeded in staying upright. He didn't stand right away—for obvious reasons.

"I'm your boss; you report directly to me. We could both lose our jobs over this."

"That won't happen. I won't _let_ it happen. I'm a temp, remember? In two months I'll be back on the regular force, and you won't be my boss anymore."

"But for the next two months, I am, and this…" He gestured between them. "Can't happen again."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Deacon's head tilted the slightest bit, his eyes flickering with sadness. He stood and held her gaze as he said, "I'm not gonna say that I don't have feelings for you. We both know that's a lie. But it's not appropriate under the circumstances."

"I understand. It won't happen again." She wasn't much of crier, but this evening had gone to hell in a handbasket, and she was having a hard time keeping her emotions in check.

He surprised her though when he stepped forward and pressed his lips to the top of her head, his hand rubbing the outside of her arm.

"I'll pick you up in the morning?"

Reagan managed a smile and nodded, relieved that their friendship seemed to be intact.

They took the elevator back to his floor, but she didn't get off, opting to just head down from there.

"Can you get home okay?" he asked, holding open the door.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay… Good night, Cas," he said. He looked like he wanted to move toward her again, but didn't, backing into the hallway instead.

"Good night, boss," she replied, and watched him disappear behind the closed doors.

 _So much for the first name basis_ , she thought miserably.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: As always, thanks for reviewing! To Rosie and those asking, I don't have a regular update schedule. My life can get pretty hectic so sometimes I'm lucky to squeeze in writing time. I try not to go more than two weeks between updates if I can help it. Please "follow" if you're eager to know when I've updated. :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The next morning, Reagan climbed into Deacon's car, her stomach in knots. Not one to be rattled easily, their encounter the night before had managed to leave her nerves a little frayed. She knew dark circles ringed her eyes from lack of sleep, and the sight of her morning coffee in his car was never more welcome than it was today.

She wasn't sure how Deacon would act around her now. Would it be horribly awkward, or would they pretend like nothing ever happened? They seemed to go with the latter.

Deacon greeted her with a warm smile and his usual hello. She thanked him for her coffee, promising to repay him somehow, which he waved off like he always did. They talked about Mondays, the weather, the great officers they work with—nothing but small talk.

Reagan listened to him talk about his camaraderie with Hondo, all the while, admiring the neatness of his facial hair and the cut of his cheekbones. Her eyes moved to his lips and she couldn't believe they had kissed only hours before. She wanted to regret it, but the man was so gosh darn handsome. How could she not want to kiss that?

Deacon glanced at her, catching her gaze on his mouth. He looked back at the road and she saw his jaw jump. Then, he kept talking. She had no idea what he said, but couldn't mistake the hint of redness that had crept into his cheeks.

When he finished, she said, "Oh, good news. The garage called this morning. My car is ready. They said I can pick it up whenever I have time."

Deacon smiled, but when he spoke, his voice didn't quite match. Would he miss these mornings together? She sure would.

"That's great. They're only a few minutes from here, right? Why don't we go and get it now?"

"What about work? Won't we be late?"

He shrugged. "Eh, it shouldn't take very long. Besides, the others might welcome an extra twenty minutes to nurse their hangovers."

Reagan grinned. "Okay, sounds good to me. Then I can stop bugging you all for rides."

He clued her in to her earlier thought when he said, "It's been no problem at all. I think I'm going to miss having someone to share my coffee with."

She laughed. "Oh you can always bring me coffee. I would never turn that down."

He shot her an easy smile as he pulled into the repair shop's parking lot. "Duly noted."

* * *

Deacon watched Reagan walk across the lot and enter the garage. She had told him he could go, but he'd insisted on waiting, just in case. He sighed out his tension and tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, keeping the beat of a random rock song on the radio, but he wasn't really listening. He observed her determined stride, how her lithe body moved underneath her LAPD-issued black pants and t-shirt. Everyone wore the same thing, but now that he'd felt the lines of her body, the quiet strength she possessed...

He cleared his throat and adjusted his position in the seat. As much as he told himself that their developing friendship was flirting with the line of inappropriate, he couldn't help his physical reaction to her. When she smiled, her eyes sparkled with life. This was someone who had been dealt a pretty crappy hand in life, but she'd thrived, made something of herself. She had insecurities, like any normal person, and he was flattered that she trusted him enough to share them with him.

The only thing that held him back—other than the giant wrinkle that he was her boss—was her obvious connection with Street. When he saw them dancing in the bar, he felt so green with envy that the strangers around him probably thought he was about to Hulk-out. Reagan wasn't his girlfriend, so she was free to do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted, but it still hurt. Most likely because Reagan and Street had looked so natural together. The other man had made her smile, lighting up those same sparkling eyes that stirred something in Deacon's chest. He didn't want to get in the middle of that and cause a scene, so he'd left.

And then she'd shown up on his doorstep, eyes unsmiling and skin flushed. Her expression was the complete opposite from the last time he'd seen her. It was clear that something was bothering her, and he'd felt the need to fix whatever it was. He hadn't meant to do it with his lips, though.

Not that that had fixed anything.

She'd still left with a frown and more sadness in her eyes than before. He barely slept after that.

They seemed to be okay now. There was the obvious elephant in the room, but they were both doing a pretty good job of ignoring it. Everything would get better with time, right?

Reagan strolled out of the garage, keys in hand. She gave him a wave and he returned it. She got behind the wheel of her beautiful car and pulled ahead of him, leading the way to the precinct. They parked next to each other and she got out, grinning.

"Oh, baby, I've missed you!" she said as she stroked her hand over the car's roof.

Deacon chuckled. "I would feel the same way. It must be hard to trust other people with her."

Reagan nodded. "Maybe one of these days I'll pick you up for a change."

"Sounds good to me," he said as he retrieved both of their bags from his backseat.

They walked into the precinct, meeting their team members by the computer table. While Luca and Hondo gave Deacon a hard time about not showing up the night before, he watched Reagan and Street out the corner of his eye. She gave the young man a shy smile—something contradictory to her personality—but her gaze said other things. He'd seen that flirtatious glimmer in her eyes, and it killed him to see it directed toward another man.

Had he pushed her away, and right toward Street? His stomach turned at the thought.

He didn't have time for this. For now, he removed it from his mind, and got to work.

* * *

Reagan mustered up the best smile she could manage for Street, while fighting the blush that threatened to give her away. He had appeared hesitant before then, like he wasn't sure how to act since they'd kissed on her doorstep. He took her smile the right way, though, because he gave one right back, showing off those dimples every woman couldn't help but adore.

"I take it you got home okay," she said, trying not to wince at her horrible small talk.

Street continued to smile, his lips closed now. He nodded.

She took a step closer to him and turned her back so that the others—mainly Deacon—wouldn't overhear. She forced herself to hold his gaze, even though her heart beat so wildly that she felt breathless. "I had fun last night," she murmured. "Thank you for making a bad day better."

"It was my pleasure. Anytime you need a dance partner, I'm there."

"I appreciate it. Listen, Jim..."

His grin wavered. "Uh oh, you used my real name."

She laughed, the sound uncomfortable. "I really like you, but I think we're better as friends."

"I thought that's all we were anyway," he said, his eyes narrowed playfully.

Reagan arched a brow at him, as if to ask, _Seriously?_

Street glanced away and lightly licked his lips. "Okay, you're right. I guess friends don't normally end their evenings like that."

"Not normally, no."

"For what it's worth, I really like you too. I consider myself lucky to have you watching my back."

"Thank you, and...likewise." She sighed. "So, we're cool?"

Street nodded. "We're cool."

Luca wandered over and stood next to them, his arms crossed. "What are you two lovebirds talking about? That was quite a moment last night..."

Reagan cringed. Meanwhile, Street held up his hands and said, "Alright, let's not make it weird. It was just a dance between friends. Right, Cas?"

"Right."

She dared a glance at Deacon, knowing his gaze was on them. With a deep frown carved into his features, he immediately looked away when she caught him. He cleared his throat and called for their attention, getting down to business and, thankfully, squashing the awkward moment.

* * *

They spent the morning at the shooting range. When no calls came in after lunch, they worked out their boredom in the gym. Reagan paired up with Luca for some kickboxing, while Deacon lifted weights with Hondo. She now considered herself on even terms with both Street and Deacon, but decided to steer clear of them for the rest of day, if possible.

That thought came crashing down when Luca pointed out that Reagan and Deacon were due for a rematch. Panic held her throat within its tight grasp as she watched him slowly walk toward her, his face, neck and arms glistening. He appeared just as hesitant as she did.

For a moment, she imagined their sweaty bodies tangled together on the mat, his hands pinning her down as his hips sunk into the warmth between her legs.

She couldn't do this.

Right when she began to wave it off, a miracle happened.

"Deacon, I need to talk to you," Captain Cortez said from nearby.

He nodded and followed after her. As he left the room, he glanced over at Reagan. The relief in his expression said it all, because she felt the same way.

"Everything okay?" she heard him ask Cortez, but couldn't hear the woman's reply.

"Guess I'll have to wait to win my ten bucks," Luca said, sighing.

Reagan shrugged. "Sorry." Though, she really wasn't.

Deacon returned only ten minutes later, but luckily, the playful moment seemed to have passed. Everyone had already moved on to other activities, to which Reagan was grateful.

"What's up, boss?" Chris asked, no doubt noticing the sharp concern in his brows.

"There was a jewelry store heist early this morning on Sunset Boulevard. Detectives have been following some good leads and are hoping to make a bust soon. They want us on call tonight."

Chris clapped her hands together once. "All right, now you're in it, Cas."

Reagan smiled as Deacon continued on to say, "Hit the showers and go home for a couple hours of shut eye. Grab a bite and then we'll meet at the mall."

"The mall?" Reagan asked, smirking. "You guys shop when you're on call?"

They all chuckled. Luca was the first to answer. "'The mall' just happens to be our super-secret hang out spot. You're officially one of us if we let you in on it."

"Okay cool, but I'm still confused," she said.

Street lightly slapped her arm with the outside of his hand. "I'll text you the directions."

"Thank you. That would be much appreciated, since I apparently have no idea where this place this."

Deacon dismissed them, and Street jogged to catch up with Reagan as she walked toward the locker room.

"Do you need a ride?" he asked with a friendly smile.

Before she could say anything, Deacon said from behind them, "I took her to get her car this morning. She's good, man."

Street cleared his throat and smiled again, but this time it was tight at the corners. "Okay, never mind."

"But thank you for offering," Reagan added, trying to soften Deacon's rejection. She was annoyed, because it wasn't his to give.

"Anytime," Street replied, and briefly touched her shoulder before turning into the men's locker room.

She glanced over to see Deacon's tense expression—something she knew would be there after Street's blatant flirting. She looked away, choosing to ignore it.

She thought she was on good terms with Deacon and Street—and maybe she was—but that apparently didn't extend to the men themselves. If she wasn't careful, she might very well ruin their friendship completely, and that was not something she wanted to do.


	7. Chapter 7

"Better luck next time, Street," Chris said, snatching a ten-dollar bill from Reagan.

Street shook his head and stepped back from where he'd just arm wrestled with Luca. "One of these days, man…"

"Keep dreaming," Luca said with a laugh.

"So no one thought to warn me that Luca here is a beast? Because that's ten bucks I'm never getting back," Reagan said.

Luca put a hand to his chest. "I'm hurt that you hadn't noticed that by now."

She scoffed and smacked him on the arm.

He laughed again. "Why don't you give it a shot? I'll pay you back the money you lost…"

"Hah!" she yelled. "My dignity is worth much more than that. I'll pass, thank you very much."

The thwack of a driver against a golf ball caught Reagan's attention. She glanced up at the concrete ledge above them. Deacon watched his ball sail through the night sky until it got swallowed by the darkness.

Deciding that she'd lost enough money, she made her way up the old escalator and walked over to stand behind him. She let her gaze wander over the mall ruins below. She'd forgotten about this place. Her mom had brought her here once to meet Santa when she was a kid, but the rise of online shopping and strip malls put it out of business. Some of it had been demolished, the rest left to go back to nature.

"Beautiful night," Reagan said, taking in the huge swath of stars over the glittering city.

"It is," Deacon replied, and hit another ball.

She admired the turn of his athletic body and impeccable form. She didn't need to know much about golf to know that he was doing it right.

"You wanna try?" he asked suddenly without looking at her. He set up another ball.

She let out an uncomfortable chuckle. "Uhh…I'm better at spectating. Golf and I have never agreed."

"Oh come on," he said, turning toward her with a gentle smile. "I'm told that I'm a pretty good teacher."

Reagan chewed on her bottom lip in self-doubt, but found herself moving toward him like a magnet. She sighed, then shrugged. "Okay, help a girl out."

His handsome smile pulled up at the corner and he handed her the golf club. She stood parallel to the tee and lined up the driver. Then his large hands were on her waist—lightly—but just enough for her heart to lodge in her throat.

"All right," he murmured, his voice silky in the humid air, which suddenly seemed warmer to her. "Feet hip-width apart. Hold the club out like this. Then turn your waist as you bring it back…" He briefly tightened his grip, helping her turn. "And then swing through, turning your hips and pivoting your back foot."

They did a dry run and then he stepped back, giving Reagan plenty of space. She ran through the steps in her mind, but all she could focus on was the absence of his strong, warm hands on her body.

When she finally hit the ball, it flew downward diagonally, striking the concrete column next to everyone below. It ricocheted off and smacked into the side of Deacon's car, leaving a small dent.

As everyone yelled in alarm, Reagan gasped and turned back to him. "I'm so sorry!"

Deacon laughed. "Don't worry about it. My car already has a variety of dings—hazards of the job. Why don't you give it another try?"

Her eyes were wide. "Do you think that's safe?"

"Yeah, is that safe?" Street shouted from down below, teasing.

They both ignored him and Deacon gestured for her to go ahead. She teed up another ball, took a deep breath and felt her focus fall in to place. She hit the ball just as she was supposed to, sending it to the far edge of the mall lot.

Reagan whirled toward him in excitement as Deacon said, "You did it! That was great!"

Next thing she knew, she was in his arms, spinning around. She hung on tightly until he set her down. Her arms stayed around his neck for a moment and their smiles slid away.

"Nice one, Cas!" Hondo hollered.

His voice broke through their trance, and Deacon was the first to move back, clearing his throat in the process. "I knew you could do it," he said quietly, acting as if they hadn't just held each other intimately.

"I had a pretty good teacher," she reminded him. "Speaking of, do you use that move on all your girlfriends? The hands on the waist thing?"

Deacon frowned at her forward question. "No." He glanced at the group below and lowered his voice. "And you're not my girlfriend, Reagan."

Her expression clouded over as she whispered, "You're right. I'm not."

He stepped toward her, sighing. "Hey, I'm sorry…"

 _Beep, beep, beep._

One by one, everyone's phones went off, the equivalent of their Bat-Signal.

"Time to go!" Hondo announced.

As Deacon and Reagan hurried down the escalator, he said, "We'll talk more about this later."

She didn't look at him as she replied, "There's nothing to talk about, Deke," and climbed into her car, missing the sullen expression on his face.

* * *

The team blazed down the road in Black Betty, Luca behind the wheel. Deacon popped a magazine into his weapon and loaded a round into the chamber. He looked across the short space and watched Reagan do the same. She glanced at him through her clear tactical glasses, but only for a brief second.

"Okay," he began, "we have our three jewelry heist suspects holed up in a one-story house. We expect them to be armed and dangerous, so we're going in with force. Myself, Street and Cassie will go in the front. Luca, Chris and Hondo take the back. Got it?"

He knew Reagan would notice that he'd put her on his team this time. He wasn't letting her out of his sight, which wasn't the smartest decision—personal in a professional environment—but he didn't care. If something happened to her, it would be on him and no one else.

"Stay liquid. Fill the gaps," he said, reminding them of their SWAT mantra.

The team arrived two houses down and hoofed it from there, not wanting to draw attention. They stayed in a straight line and moved quickly, yet quietly. When they arrived at the house, the latter three hurried to the back door as Deacon's team waited at the front.

 _"30-David in position,"_ Hondo whispered after a few seconds.

"22-David, hang back for rabbits," Deacon said, which told Luca to stay by the door in case one of the suspects tried to make a run for it.

 _"Roger that,"_ Luca replied.

"20-David going in," Deacon announced.

Street muscled the battering ram up to the front door and, on Deacon's go, swung it into the wooden surface. The door splintered and flew open. Deacon headed in first, followed by Reagan, and then Street once he'd discarded the ram. A middle-aged man sleeping on the couch immediately jumped up, grabbing for a handgun on the coffee table.

"Gun!" Deacon yelled, and fired two rounds center-mass.

Reagan checked the body to make sure he wasn't getting back up and kicked his gun away.

"One suspect down," Deacon stated.

Meanwhile, Street cleared the kitchen on the other side of the open-concept room.

"Gimme two!" Deacon said as he waited by the doorway that led to the hall.

Reagan returned to her spot behind him and slapped him twice on the shoulder. Street backed up Reagan and they proceeded down the hallway. They heard shots coming from one of the bedrooms, then, _"Second suspect down."_

Someone darted across the hall and disappeared into the adjacent room. He didn't appear to be armed, but they wouldn't let their guard down.

"Suspect three is on the move…"

Deacon kicked open the door and Reagan moved in first. The suspect was in the process of climbing through a window.

"Rabbit! Southeast window!" Reagan yelled.

The three advanced forward, hearing a shout and a thud at the same time.

 _"Got the rabbit,"_ Luca announced, out of breath.

Deacon relaxed his shoulders and then pressed the communication button on his vest. "20-David to command: Two suspects down, one in custody—requesting transport."

When the suspect was taken away by an LAPD black and white, Deacon turned to his crew and smiled. "Good work, guys."

"And girls," Chris prompted as she fist-bumped Reagan.

"Yeah, good job, rook," Luca said, throwing her a chin tilt.

"See, Cas?" Street said, smiling. "I didn't get you shot this time."

"Man, why you gotta say shit like that?" Luca asked. "It's bad luck."

"Isn't it bad luck to say that it's bad luck?" he pointed out.

Before they could get into it, Deacon intervened. "All right, come on. Let's get back so we can go home and get some rest before the sun comes up."

Everyone piled into Black Betty and changed back at headquarters. When Deacon got out to the parking garage, he happened to spot Reagan putting her stuff in her car, not far from his own.

Before he could think better of it, he called out to her.

When she saw him, a flash of apprehension crossed her features. Then, she asked, "Yeah, boss?"

"You did good out there today."

"Thanks. I'm glad I was able to show what I can do." She gave him a tight smile and started to open her car door. "Night, Deke."

Deacon's heart began to race and he glanced at the ground, before saying, "Hey, listen…"

She stopped with her hand on the door and looked back at him after a moment of hesitation.

"Do you want to get a drink with me?" he asked.

Her brows jumped up. "Right now?"

He swallowed the knot in his throat. "Yeah… Sorry, I know it's late. I just…think we really need to talk."

Reagan squinted at her watch and said, "O'Malley's is already closed for the night."

Deacon sighed. "You're right—"

"But I have another idea."

He waited for her response, finally asking, "Okay…?"

"Follow me," she said, and got into her car.

Deacon agreed and got behind the wheel of his own car. He was curious as to where she was taking them, but in this moment of recklessness, he would follow her anywhere.

It didn't take long for him to figure out where they were going, though.

He pulled into Reagan's driveway and parked behind her, but didn't get out.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for being so patient, and a special thank you to WishfulThinker66, FaithOriginal, TheIrishShipperholic, and Guest for the lovely reviews. Your support means everything! (And thanks for the comment about Luca! He's my favorite character to write!) I'm sorry this update took so long. We're remodeling our living room so my computer was collecting dust while I worked on that. I hope this chapter makes up for the wait!**

 **Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

Deacon rolled down his window. She walked over and dipped her head to talk to him.

"What's up?" she asked.

He laughed without humor. "Reagan…why you'd bring me back to your place? I'm your boss. You know this is inappropriate."

Reagan glanced around at the empty streets, her expression less than impressed. "You're making this sound way dirtier than I meant for it to be. You don't even have to come inside. I just thought we could walk on the beach and talk."

"Oh."

"Yeah…"

He shut off his car and got out. "Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed the worst."

"It's okay. I knew it would look bad. That's why I didn't tell you where we were going," Reagan said, smiling. She gestured for him to follow and they walked around to the back of the house. She took off her flip flops and set them on the deck. Deacon did the same with his socks and shoes.

The beach was dark, but a few houses allowed pockets of light, along with the glowing boardwalk in the distance. But because of the late hour, there wasn't a soul in sight.

"So you wanted to talk," she said as they began to stride through the cool sand.

"I think we need to clear up a couple things."

"I was under the impression we did that at your place the other night."

"Kinda. If anything, though, it just complicated everything," he said.

"Well that's the truth," she mumbled, stopping at the water's edge.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"I don't know if I should agree or take that as an insult. I didn't mean for it to happen either, but it did, and I don't regret it."

Deacon crossed his arms and turned to look at her instead of the dark waves. "You're really good at what you do, Reagan. I respect you, in every way. The last thing I want to do is hurt your reputation and everything you've worked so hard for. I know there's a double-standard for women when it comes to sleeping with someone in the workplace. And if we were simply on the same team, that would be one thing. But you report to me. How are we supposed to uphold the law if we can't even follow our own department's rules?"

"I understand where you're coming from. Really, I do. But I'm a temp on your team. This isn't a long-term arrangement. Why should we compromise our feelings and the chance at something that would better our lives outside of work?"

He frowned. "Are you sure it would be for the better?"

She sighed. "Again, I don't know if I should take that as an insult."

"I'm sorry, Reagan, that's not how I meant it. What I'm trying to say is that a romance could cloud our judgement out on the job. I saw a hint of that with Street the other day."

"That's not what happened at all, and I wish you would stop bringing it up."

Deacon's expression hardened. "I only know what I saw. He didn't have your back—"

"But I had his! Sometimes it won't go both ways. We're human, Deke. We fuck up. We're not perfect."

"I think you're pretty close to it," he said suddenly, his dark eyes locked on her.

Reagan's skin flared with heat—not just with lust, but with anger. "Don't say shit like that right now. Not when you just stood there, justifying why we can't be together. I don't appreciate mind games, Deacon."

"I haven't been playing mind games with you..."

"Seriously? What about earlier, the whole golfing thing? Would you have done that with Chris?"

Deacon remained quiet. He knew he'd been caught.

"Maybe I shouldn't be on your team."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"Because you can't expect me to work next to you, day-after-day, and not think about how good it would feel to have your lips on mine..."

God, she wished she had a camera in that moment, because the shocked look on Deacon's face was priceless.

Her voice grew husky as she continued on to say, "To feel your bare skin against mine."

She watched his eyes darken as the muscles in his jaw moved convulsively. He looked downright tortured. Someone so calm and composed on a regular basis...

She wanted to break him.

"To wonder how it would feel to completely be one with you," she whispered, knowing that was all it would take.

Deacon closed the space between them, his lips crashing down, kissing her like his life depended on it. Reagan held his face, thinking that he might try to pull away, but somehow knew he wouldn't. He wasn't a halfway kind of guy. He fully committed to everything he did, and she knew they wouldn't stop when they got to the heavy petting this time.

Reagan leaned into Deacon as his hands slipped under the back of her t-shirt. He caressed her warm skin, enjoying the smoothness under his fingertips. He'd thought about this moment too many times. He'd always told himself that it wasn't appropriate, that he was being pervy, but he was a man—and Reagan was a beautiful woman. She pulled him to her like there was an invisible elastic between them. As much as he tried to deny her, she just kept snapping him back.

They started to move toward the house, but his heel caught on a mound of sand and he fell backward, Reagan tumbling on top of him. She laughed against his mouth, but he kept kissing her, needing her like he needed oxygen in his lungs. He whipped off her shirt with lightning speed, and then grasped her backside, grinding their hips together.

Reagan pushed up his shirt, exposing enough of his abdomen so that she could take a moment to run her lips over the muscles there. Deacon's breaths rushed in and out as he watched her in the dim lighting.

Suddenly, a catcall from nearby made them freeze in place. They spotted the shadows of a few people walking where they had just been down by the water.

"We should probably take this inside," he said.

"Yeah, or else we'll have to arrest ourselves for indecent exposure," she quipped with a wink.

Reagan offered Deacon her hand, helping him up out of the sand. She grabbed her shirt and they rushed onto the deck, where he watched her fumble with her keys.

"Do you need help?" he asked, his chest now rising and falling with anticipation.

Her hands shook, but she managed to sink the key into the slot with ease.

The double entendre wasn't lost on him.

Reagan's house was dark, but she didn't move to turn on any lights. She tripped over something, but simply kicked it out of the way. She took his hand and guided him through the obstacles until they reached her bedroom. Soft moonlight streamed in through the window, which he was thankful for, because he wanted to see her. He took in the sight of her full-size bed, the teal coverlet neatly tucked in and pulled up to four plush pillows.

Reagan must have seen him eyeing it—an immaculate bed in a messy room—because she said, "I read that book by that Navy admiral. The one that talks about making your bed every day…"

"Me too," he said as he tugged her gently toward him

"It was good," she whispered against his lips.

"Mhmm," he said in agreement, again mesmerized by her kiss. He'd already forgotten what they were talking about.

Reagan helped Deacon with his shirt, their lips only parting for that one necessary second as she removed it over his head. He returned the favor, unzipping the front of her sports bra and letting it fall to the floor. He pulled her closer then, her bare skin sliding against his, and he knew this was heaven. It was everything she'd talked about on the beach. He couldn't fault her for wanting those things—because he wanted them too.

He backed Reagan up toward the bed, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist as he came down over her. He threaded their fingers together above her head and pinned her in place, kissing up her neck to behind her ear.

"Try getting out of it this time," he murmured against the fragile shell.

Deacon missed her smile as she bucked her body upward, breaking his hold long enough to twist his arm around and roll until she sat firmly on top of him. He looked at her in shock.

"You _did_ hold out on me! I don't know if I should be mad or turned on…"

Reagan's smile grew wider. "How about both?"

Deacon grinned and pulled her down to kiss him. He wound her braid around his hand and then yanked her to one side—not enough to hurt her, but enough to show that he could play dirty too. She moaned into his mouth as he shifted on top of her once more. He brought his hands to her hips and began to pull down her shorts and underwear in one effortless motion.

He took a moment to admire her naked body in the moonlight, toned and yet soft in all the right places. He covered one breast with his hand and watched her rub her legs together restlessly. Replacing his hand with his mouth, he used his tongue and teeth to tease her until a whispered plea escaped from her parted lips.

"Please, Deacon…"

"David," he said softly, meeting her wild, dark eyes. "Tonight I want you to call me David."

"Okay," she whispered, and took one of his hands, guiding it between her legs. When he felt the slick warmth around his fingers, she said, "I need you, David. Right now."

He almost wanted to tell her that words weren't necessary—he could feel the very essence of her desire—but he loved hearing her beg. It stroked his ego, and that didn't happen much these days.

Deciding that they'd tormented themselves enough for one night, Deacon removed everything on his bottom half and parted her thighs. He knelt there for a moment as he was hit with the cold slap of reality.

"What?" Reagan asked, her lusty gaze clearing.

"Do you have some kind of protection?"

The intensity in her expression melted away on a breathy laugh. "I got an IUD a few years ago. And I'm clean. You have nothing to worry about."

"Okay… Likewise," he said, but didn't remove his hands from her knees. He just looked at her, looking back at him. "Reagan…"

"David, don't. I know you want this just as much as I do." She reached up and touched his cheek, holding its scratchy surface in her palm. "Just stop thinking for one night, and allow yourself to feel."

Deacon closed his eyes as she stroked his skin, finally taking him within her hand. He leaned forward, allowing her to guide him to the damp heat at her center. He gazed into her eyes as she absorbed him, taking his full length. She gasped when he pulled back and then thrust again, letting her adjust to him. He buried himself within her and met her lips for a lazy kiss, as if they'd done this a hundred times before.

Reagan was right. He wouldn't have been able to concentrate until he'd known what it was like to be one with her. Hopefully, after tonight, they'd have it out of their system for good.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I sincerely apologize that this update took so long. When we finished our room, we went to the Dominican for a week, so I'm back now and ready to write! I know some of you were surprised by how quickly they hooked up, and I agree with you. In all honesty, Deacon isn't the type to do that. We would have the slowest burn of all slow burns...and that's just not my style! I hope you all continue to enjoy the story anyway and thank you for the awesome reviews! :)**

* * *

When Reagan awoke, she wasn't the least bit surprised to find the other side of her bed empty. A small part of her had hoped Deacon would be there, warming the cool sheets with his lean, muscular body. She couldn't remember much from those early morning hours—she'd fallen right asleep—but they hadn't even talked afterward, which made everything that much more awkward.

Running on only a few hours of sleep, Reagan knew she needed coffee to get through this rough morning, especially if she was going to process what had happened between her and Deacon. She rolled out of bed, pulled on her underwear, and padded into the kitchen as she slipped into a wrinkled t-shirt. Turning on the coffeemaker, she got it brewing just in time to notice a slip of paper on the counter by the fridge.

She picked it up slowly, unsure if she really wanted to read it. The handwriting was legible and crisp. Unique for a man, but so obviously Deacon.

 _Cassie,_

 _I don't regret what we did. We both knew it was going to happen, but now that we've gotten it out of our systems, it's time to move forward and get serious. We need to function as coworkers. We're part of something that's much bigger than us. I consider you a friend and, for the greater good, that's really all we should be._

 _-Deke_

"Well, okay then," she murmured to herself. _And yet again, s_ _o much for the first name basis._

She set down the note and took a deep breath. She understood where he was coming from, the whole bit about being involved in something bigger than them, but the line about getting it out of their systems did not please her. She'd been under the impression they'd made a special connection that went beyond one night.

Reagan's body began to protest such heavy thoughts without a single drop of caffeine to help it out. As she poured a cup of the strong coffee and took a sip, she realized she had no idea how she would face Deacon at work today. They had really made a mess of things. If she could just keep her cool and act like her feelings hadn't come into play, then maybe he would think they were on the same page, that he hadn't gotten to her...which was a complete lie.

There could be time later on for a relationship, but it was too soon to say. She certainly wouldn't bet on it or carry a torch for him. He'd made it known how he felt. She'd just look like a lovesick fool if she did those things.

Deciding that she'd had enough reflection time—and that it wasn't getting her anywhere—Reagan finished her coffee and changed into her running gear. She hit the beach, only going three miles instead of her usual four. The sun began its ascent over the Pacific Ocean, the beautiful sight filling her with hope for the new day—something she desperately needed.

When she returned home, she took a quick shower, got ready, and then headed into work. Her stomach did flips the whole way and she hated herself for it. She was way more composed than this! She liked guys as much as the next girl, but they usually didn't have this much of a grasp on her. What was it about Deacon that made him different from the others?

Reagan's mind wandered, beginning to list the reasons why. She quickly put a stop to it by turning up her radio as loud as she could stand it. She kept her music that way until she reached the parking garage of the police precinct. Walking in, she unknowingly held her breath until Luca popped in front of her.

"Cassie, do you have a minute? I gotta talk to you," he said, rubbing his closed fist against his opposite palm.

"Yeah. What's up?"

The moment Luca opened his mouth to speak, Deacon walked past her, his back to them. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her the smallest smile. It wasn't a look that said, _Hey baby, thanks for the sex last night._ In fact, it didn't appear any different from a smile he'd give the rest of their team.

 _What'd you expect? a_ voice asked inside her head. _A declaration of love in front of the whole department? A kiss? Hah._

Reagan blew out a sigh and directed her gaze back to Luca, who stared at her expectantly. "Uh, yeah, okay." She didn't know what she had agreed to, but was happy to help. Usually.

"Oh, man. Thank you, Cassie! I will never forget this. I promise I won't get in the way. You won't even know I'm there. Just two weeks, tops."

Reagan frowned and gave him her full attention. "Wait, what?"

"I'll be at your place for only two weeks. That's all I need to get back on my feet."

"Woah," she said, holding up a hand. "What about Street? I thought you were staying with him."

"I was...like I just told you, his mom is getting out of prison and he wants her to live with him, so I'm out. Family first, ya know?" His voice said that he understood but wasn't very happy about it.

Reagan grasped for the right thing to say, but knew she was in too deep at this point. She'd technically already said yes. She considered Luca a friend—he'd had her back this whole time—and there really wasn't any reason for her to say no.

She shrugged. "Okay, you can have the couch. It's all I've got. My place is pretty small."

Luca put up his hands, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "No worries. I won't get in the way. You're on the beach, right?"

"Yeah..."

"That's awesome. I'll bring my board. Please tell me you surf."

She laughed. "I do. I'm planning to go after work tonight..."

Luca's grin widened. "Count me in! I'll bring my stuff over when we get out."

After she agreed, he gave her a quick hug and then ran off, presumably to tell Street. She stood in the main corridor, shell-shocked by what had just transpired. Truthfully, it wasn't a big deal, but in the short time she'd known Luca, she had learned that he had a tendency to overstay his welcome. She'd heard Street talk about it enough times.

 _What if Deacon wants to come over?_

Reagan struggled not to laugh out loud. He'd made it abundantly clear that they were done with that part of their relationship. She wouldn't have to give a single thought to the potential of Luca and Deacon crossing paths at her house. She didn't know whether that brought her relief—or disappointment.

Suddenly, Reagan's phone began beeping in her pocket and she heard the echo of other phones going off in the nearby control room.

Deacon stuck his head out and, all business now, said, "Time to mount up."

* * *

"We've got a Code 3 with officers under fire. They received a call about suspicious activity at an abandoned warehouse and were met with force. We're guessing they interrupted a drug deal in progress," Deacon informed them in the back of Black Betty. "I want teams of two: Chris and I will assist the officers, while Hondo and Cassie cover the east exit, and Luca and Street take the west."

Everyone nodded as they got locked and loaded. Reagan avoided Deacon's gaze, which wasn't too difficult considering he'd hardly looked at her since that moment in the hallway. It irritated her, but at the same time, she understood that this was what he had talked about—they were on their way to a life or death situation—romantic feelings needed to take a backseat.

Determined to get focused, she thought about the job at hand and what she would need to do when they got there.

Luca pulled up a minute later and they jumped out, remaining in a straight line until they reached the officers in distress. Then the teams of two branched out, with Reagan following Hondo to the east side of the building.

"30-David in position," he reported as they stood on either side of the metal door.

" _22-David in position,"_ Luca said a few seconds later.

Deacon's voice came through their earpieces and Reagan struggled not to imagine that same deep voice in her ear the night before as he'd pushed inside her.

After counting down, Hondo opened the door and Reagan proceeded into the building. High, dusty windows let in minimal light, so she turned on the flashlight on top of her assault weapon. She scanned one side of the building while Hondo took the other. They cleared the large room until they reached a small corridor.

When Hondo got there first, he said, "Gimme two."

Reagan patted his shoulder and they moved forward together. He cleared a messy office on their left, and then she did the same on their right.

"Clear," she announced, meeting him in the hallway again.

 _"26-David one suspect down."_ Street.

 _"24-David two suspects down."_ Chris.

Reagan's adrenaline kicked in as she wondered where the other shooters were. She jumped when Luca and Street rounded the corner, coming face to face with her and Hondo.

"30-David to 20-David, we're not seeing anyone else. How many suspects again?" Hondo asked as they stood in a circle, eyes sharp.

 _"Officer Han says he saw four,"_ Deacon replied.

"We're missing one, then."

 _"Might've run off before we got here,"_ Chris said.

 _"And you've cleared the whole building?"_ Deacon.

"From what we can see, yeah." Luca.

 _"All right, we'll call it for now. Come on out."_

The group of four shrugged and exited the building from the west side, still keeping up their guard, just in case. But that didn't stop Luca from changing the subject.

"It's Taco Tuesday, you down with that, Cas?"

She chuckled. "Do I have a choice?"

Street shook his head and said, deadpan, "No, you don't. Not ever."

Hondo laughed at their suffering as he scanned their surroundings.

Reagan heard something behind them and turned to see a black car racing down the alleyway. "Guys, watch out!"

She, Hondo and Luca managed to dive out of the way at the last second, but Street wasn't so lucky. He impacted the windshield with a sickening crack, before flying up over the top and landing on the pavement, motionless.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Wow. That was quite the season finale! I won't mention any spoilers, just in case you haven't seen it yet, but at the moment I'm not planning to go in that direction with this story. I just hope everything gets resolved next season! :(**

 **So here's some kind of a resolution to hold you over until then. And keep the reviews coming! You guys always have the best things to say! Thank you for that. :)**

* * *

 _Holy shit._

That was the first thought to pop into Reagan's head. She'd watched the car hit Street almost as if it was in slow motion, and yet, it had happened so fast. He was there beside them, joking about Luca and tacos, and then he was on the ground.

Shots rang out next to her, the sound deafening so close to her ear. She watched Hondo empty his magazine into the back tires of the evasive car. Successful in his attempt, both tires blew out, causing the car to crash into a dumpster at the end of the alleyway. Immediately, the driver's door flew open and their last suspect began to run.

"30-David in pursuit of suspect fleeing on foot. Requesting back up!" Hondo yelled as he took off after the runner.

"Cas, call it in!" Luca said through the ringing in her ears, as he pointed at Street and got up to sprint after Hondo.

 _"What the hell's going on?"_ Deacon demanded, obviously concerned about the sudden uproar of activity.

Reagan scurried across the pavement and crouched over Street. Blood. There was so much blood. And he still wasn't moving. Fear lodged in her throat as she ripped off her gloves and pressed two shaking fingers to his neck. His pulse was steady, _thank God_. She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice as she pressed the button on her vest.

"25-David to command: we have an officer down. Repeat officer down. Code 480. Requesting a bus at..." She rambled off their location and then let off the button. She spoke once more, this time for her team. "26-David is down. He was hit by a car. He's breathing, but unconscious. I need immediate assistance."

Deacon's voice came through and she had never welcomed it more. _"We're on our way."_

Reagan wanted to take off Street's helmet and vest, but knew he could have a spinal injury, so it was best not to move him. She opted instead to see if she could get him conscious.

"Street. Hey, Jim. Can you hear me? Open your eyes," she said firmly, cradling his cheeks in her hands. "Come on, Jim. Look at me." Warm blood coated her hands, leaving streaky fingerprints on his face. The sharp smell of copper hung in the air. "Jim, please..."

Deacon arrived then, putting his hand on her shoulder as he got down next to them. Chris came around on the other side, her expression grim.

"His pulse is steady, but he hasn't opened his eyes yet," Reagan said, not tearing her gaze away from Street.

"The bus is two minutes out," Deacon said, referring to the ambulance. "Tell me what happened."

Reagan swallowed hard, but the ball of fear stayed put. "We had just walked out, and we didn't drop our guard, I swear... The car was on us before we even knew what to do. We jumped out of the way, but Street..." Tears distorted her vision, but she wouldn't let them fall—she wouldn't show her team how truly scared she was. That didn't stop one from escaping, though, which she quickly swiped away. "He didn't have a chance..."

"It's okay, Cas. You guys did everything you could have done," he said.

She shook her head. "I should've done more. I could've pushed him out of the way, or—"

"Stop," Deacon said, "you did all you could do. Don't beat yourself up over this. If there had been more time, I'm sure you would have done things differently."

She glanced at him, seeing but not hearing. He frowned and reached across the space between them. His left hand moved to her cheek, while his opposite gloved hand rubbed at a spot under her eye. Her heart leapt at his close proximity, but realized he was only doing it to remove a streak of Street's blood from her face. That was all, and then he pulled away.

A minute later, the ambulance howled toward them. Two paramedics exited, retrieved a gurney from the back and hurried over.

"Sergeant Kay, your team called in a hit and run?" one of them asked Deacon.

He nodded. As they got to work checking the injured man's vitals, he said, "Officer James Street. 30 years old. Blood type is A-. No known health issues."

"Thanks, Sergeant. We're going to need you to ride with us, in case we have questions about what happened."

Deacon shook his head. "I didn't see it happen, but Officer Cassidy did. She should go with you. I need to hang back and assist my other officers. Our suspect is still on the loose." When the paramedics agreed, he glanced at Reagan, his brown eyes soft with concern. "You good to go with them?"

"I'll be fine. Just get the bastard who did this."

"Consider it done," Chris said, her hard tone proving how serious she was.

Deacon squeezed Reagan's shoulder as they stepped back from the scene. "We'll meet you at the hospital in a bit, okay?"

"Sounds good," she murmured, on auto-pilot now.

"And take care of our boy," Chris added, before following Deacon out of the alleyway.

"You got it," Reagan called after her.

Once the paramedics had loaded Street into the back of the ambulance, Reagan climbed in after them. They started the swift trip to the hospital, asking her questions about the car's speed and impact location in order to figure out possible injuries.

"Definitely looks like a concussion and a broken nose, but it's too soon to say if there's anything internal," one of them said.

Reagan's stomach twisted at the thought. She rubbed her hands together and watched them prepare Street for his arrival at the hospital. She itched to hold his hand and assure him that everything would be okay—even if he couldn't see her, maybe he could hear her.

When they pulled up to the emergency room, Reagan opened the back door and allowed the paramedics to wheel Street inside. She stayed close until a nurse put a hand out to stop her.

"I'm sorry, Officer, you can't go past this point. We'll take him from here. I promise we'll let you know something soon," the woman said.

Reagan wanted to argue, but knew it would be futile. "Okay…thanks."

She waited for the gurney to disappear and then lifted her hands to rub them over her face, but stopped when she saw how red they were. She found the closest bathroom and scrubbed for a good five minutes, watching crimson swirl around the drain until it turned clear. She removed her helmet and quickly brushed back the sweaty locks of hair on her forehead. She splashed cool water on her face and then patted it dry with a paper towel.

After finding her way to the waiting room, she plopped down in a vacant chair and cradled her weary head in her hands.

* * *

Deacon, along with his remaining team members, observed the back of their suspect as he was loaded into an awaiting cruiser. Once it had driven away and out of sight, they piled into Black Betty. Silence enveloped the truck. There was none of the usual joking or snarky comments. They simply retreated to their own thoughts until Luca parked outside of the hospital.

Being team leader, Deacon took point, which probably seemed normal to his colleagues, but deep down he knew he needed to be the first to see Reagan. They had been busy taking down the asshole who'd hurt Street, but she had been stuck here, left to wallow alone. Seeing her covered in blood earlier, she'd looked so fragile; a reminder that underneath her tough exterior, she was a caring and vulnerable person. He hated that she blamed herself for what happened. It was natural for a cop to do that after an incident, even when they had no control over the outcome. He'd asked the others about it—they really couldn't have done anything differently, beyond having eyes in the back of their head.

Deacon zeroed in on Reagan, her hunched form appearing even more defeated than he'd imagined. Her eyes were closed, but her head snapped up when Luca stepped past them and opened his arms to give her a hug.

Reagan stood and allowed herself to be swallowed by Luca's embrace. She returned it and then stepped back, regarding the rest of the group with tired eyes.

As Chris moved forward to hug her next, Hondo asked, "Have you heard anything?"

"They know he's got a concussion, and obviously a ton of bruises, but he didn't appear to have any internal bleeding or broken bones, besides a couple ribs and a busted nose. He's conscious now, so we'll be able to go in soon... We got lucky."

"And we got the guy," Chris said after everyone expressed their relief.

"Good," Reagan said as she accepted a hug from Hondo. "Thanks, guys."

Deacon hesitated, unsure if she would want to hug him after the way he'd left things this morning. The note said he still wanted to be friends. She'd hugged everyone else and they were just friends. The problem was he didn't trust himself around her. He could swear her off all he wanted, but the moment he got around her, she drew him in like a fly to honey.

But now everyone was staring at them, and probably wondering why he hadn't hugged her yet. Deacon bit the bullet and reached for her, allowing his arms to hold her tightly. Reagan's hands clutched the back of his vest as her hair brushed against his face. He smelled her shampoo and was instantly transported to the night before. He pictured her naked body straining for a climax as he pounded into her, the scent of her shampoo and sex filling his nostrils.

He quickly stepped away from her and tried to hide the image in his mind's eye, but knew that she was picturing it too. The red in her cheeks gave her away and she refused to meet his dark gaze.

Luckily, the doctor chose that moment to interrupt. "Officer Street is awake, but he needs to rest. You can all come in for few minutes, but that's it."

They seized the opportunity. With Luca leading the pack, they strode down the corridor, a force to be reckoned with, and yet, it hadn't helped Street escape his current predicament. They were only human, not superheroes.

"Heeey," the team said collectively as they entered the sterile hospital room.

Street smiled back weakly, his eyes hooded. He put out a hand to do his traditional 'bro' handshake with Luca. The latter grinned, and said, "Dude, I got scared for a minute there. I think you've got more blood in that big head of yours than brains."

Everyone scoffed, while Chris said, "Luca, that's just gross."

Street laughed, but followed it with a wince. "Ugh, don't make me laugh."

"Sorry, man."

Deacon took a step closer. "Seriously, though, we're really glad you're okay. You'll be happy to know we got the guy."

Street's expression sobered. "Thanks. That does help."

A few minutes later, the doctor from earlier peeked her head into the room and said, "Time to wrap it up. One person is welcome to stay, but he needs his rest now."

Luca tried to volunteer, but Hondo chuckled, saying, "He'll never get any rest if you stay. My vote's for Cassie…" He looked at Street. "She called it in, stayed with you the whole time."

Deacon's gut clenched at the thought of Reagan and Street alone together, but knew he was being irrational. She had helped a fellow officer in need and deserved this moment more than anyone else. Besides, they were in a hospital—not a bar.

"I suppose I can put up with you a little while longer," Reagan said with a teasing smile, which Street returned.

* * *

When the rest of the team cleared out, Reagan sat in the chair by Street's bed. She reached out and took his hand within her own, noticing the blood caked under her fingernails that she'd been unable to remove. She looked back up at his face, where a bandage covered the bridge of his nose and deep purple branched out under his eyes.

"We're even now," Street mumbled suddenly.

"What? How so?" she asked, holding back a chuckle.

"I got you out of Taco Tuesday."

This time she laughed. "I think I would have preferred that over this." Her features smoothed out as she became serious once more. "I'm so sorry—"

"Ah stop it."

"No, Jim, I heard it coming and didn't do anything to protect you."

"Enough of that. I'm glad it's me in this bed and not you."

Reagan frowned at him.

"Stop looking at me like that. You're gonna get wrinkles on that pretty face."

She shook her head, attempting to hide a flattered smirk. Even though he looked exhausted, his eyes still held their usual sparkling charm. She gave his hand a squeeze and said, "All right, I'll stop talking now. I'm not supposed to be distracting you from your rest."

"You can distract me all you want," Street said, even as he closed his eyes.

Apparently, he needed it though, because he was out within seconds.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'm glad we're in agreement that the finale was crazy. It's nice to know I'm not alone! Since it's summertime and the show's off season, my updates may slow down a little bit, but I'm not giving up! Come September I hope to be back on a regular schedule. It's just difficult to write when my child isn't in school.**

 **Also, I don't know if any of you have noticed but I've slipped in some Easter eggs from the old SWAT movie (with Colin Farrell). If you haven't seen it, you should. :-)**

 **Enjoy and happy summer!**

* * *

"Luca, where's my cereal?" Reagan called out from her pantry, which was just a small closet off the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Cas! I ate the rest last night. I was gonna pick up some more after work today," the man said as he walked into the room.

Reagan sighed and glanced over at him. "It's only been two weeks, man. You're eating me out of house and home."

"Really, I'm sorry. You just have the best food! That cereal with the little pieces of granola and almond slivers? _So_ good."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, but sometime I'd like to enjoy it, too," she said, moving to the fridge to get out a carton of eggs. When she opened it, only one remained. She looked up at Luca.

"They're on my list, too."

Reagan let out a groan and slid the carton onto the counter.

"Hey, I'm a growing boy! I get pissy when I'm hungry. No one wants to see that."

She laughed. "Oh, honey, you haven't seen pissy. Seriously. Stop eating my food. I want this to work just as much as you do."

"I doubt that."

"Don't be rude. I'm just saying…I've got your back, but a little more support in the grocery department would be nice."

Luca nodded. "I know, I'm sorry. I'll do better. That was a sore spot for Street and I. I'll be honest, though, I like living with you more. Your couch is comfortable, the beach is right there." He gestured outside. "Your feet don't smell as bad."

"What do you mean 'as bad'? My feet don't smell bad at all. You take it back," she said, smiling.

Luca grinned. "They smell like roses. I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you for helping me out. I don't know where I would have gone when Street took his mom in."

"What's the deal with her anyway? No one really talks about it. All I know is that she was in prison up until last week. What'd she do, kill someone?" Reagan asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"Yeah, Street's dad."

Reagan choked a little on her drink and put her mug down with a thud. "Woah, I didn't think that was what actually happened. And his _father_? What the hell?"

"His old man was abusive. She finally got fed up and shot him."

"How old was Street?"

Luca shrugged. "I don't know, just a kid. I think he feels like he owes it to her, to take care of her now since she took care of him."

"Well, yeah, she's his mom."

"But that's not the whole story."

"Then tell me the rest! We don't have to be to work for another hour." She sat down at the small kitchen table, sipped her coffee and waited patiently.

Luca took the seat across from her and told Reagan the story about how Street had gotten in trouble by unknowingly doing his mom's dirty work while she was stuck in prison. Hondo had paid her visit to warn her off Street, which earned him some payback in the form of a false citizen complaint. She denied it, of course, but everyone saw through her—except Street.

"That's super sketchy," Reagan said when Luca finished. "I mean, I get why she offed her husband—abusive is a terrible thing—but that whole last part? Street needs to watch his back."

"Yeah, no kidding. It's probably good that I got out of there when I did."

"Well, I'm happy to have you. Mostly. Just stop eating my food," she said with a smirk.

* * *

Gunshots echoed throughout the canyon where each SWAT team was spending a slow afternoon doing target practice. Deacon always liked this place, certainly a lot more than the dark and stuffy range inside their precinct. At least here he got to be out in the California sunshine, which today felt warm and therapeutic.

He watched Reagan line up to start. Her tan arms shimmered with sweat as she clutched a tactical rifle to her shoulder. When Hondo gave her a go, she took the first shot, hit her mark and continued to the next. She did that until she reached the last target. Quickly, she put down the rifle and retrieved the police-issued handgun from her thigh holster. She fired three more rounds and then put away her weapon. She pulled out her foam earplugs and took off the clear glasses on her face.

Hondo jogged forward and checked her targets. When they both got back to the rest of the group, he said, "Four head shots and eleven center-mass. No misses. Nice job, Cas."

They all gave her a high-five or fist bump, except Deacon. He simply nodded and said, "Good job."

"Thanks, boss," she replied, and turned back to talk to Hondo. To everyone else, she had probably sounded casual, maybe even professional, but to him, she just sounded pissed. They hadn't talked since their one night stand. She must have gotten the message that they couldn't be together, as much as he would have liked that. She was so pretty; she took his breath away every single day. She didn't even wear makeup half the time. It was a different kind of attraction. He knew what she was capable of, all of which he found incredibly sexy.

But it wasn't meant to be. They were each in positions that made them completely wrong for each other.

Much to his disdain, he'd noticed her taking a liking to Street—more so than before. Ever since his accident they'd been like two peas in a pod. And Luca, too. The latter had moved in with her, but their relationship was clearly platonic, like a brother/sister thing. He didn't mind that—it kept Luca out of his hair and his apartment—but there was something going on between her and Street. As David, it wasn't any of his business, but as Deacon and team leader, it was very much his business to know what was going on with his team.

"So, tonight at O'Malley's? 9:00?" Chris asked the group.

Hondo and Luca agreed, then Reagan, and finally Street.

When they all looked to Deacon, he didn't get a chance to make up an excuse before Hondo said, "Not you, though! The boss has a hot date."

The bottom fell out of Deacon's stomach. He hadn't meant to tell the other man about his plans tonight, but it had slipped in conversation. He hadn't thought it would come up, though. Hondo wasn't the type to broadcast stuff, definitely not like Luca or Street.

"Nice!" Luca said, giving Deacon a punch in the shoulder. "Who is she? What's her name?"

"Hey, don't give him the third degree, man," Hondo said to Luca.

"You probably shouldn't have said anything then," Deacon fired back, trying to keep the harsh edge out of his voice. He glanced at Reagan for a moment and, fortunately, his aviators did a good job of hiding the track of his eyes. Still, one second of her wounded expression was enough to make it feel like someone had punched him in the heart.

Hondo shook his head, luckily not picking up on the hostility rolling off of Deacon. "Sorry, I should know better by now. But the cat's outta the bag. What was her name again? Darlene? Da—?"

"Danielle," he supplied, and then clenched his jaw tight as he watched it dawn on Reagan just who they were talking about.

"That's it! Danielle! She works at that coffee shop you like, right?" Hondo asked.

"Yeah, she does. Her dad's been trying to set us up forever."

Street scowled. "That sounds kinda weird."

"That's what I thought, too, but I got talking to her this morning and she actually seems pretty nice. We had a laugh about her dad and then agreed to go out once. Nothing huge. Just a dinner date," Deacon said, trying to defuse the situation with Reagan. They may not have been together, but he still felt like he needed to explain it to her.

"Hey, once is all you need!" Luca said with a wink.

Hondo agreed, grinning widely.

Deacon tried to go along with it, but was too preoccupied watching Reagan walk away to the gun table to check her weapons.

Chris looked between them, unsmiling, and said, "You guys are animals," before joining Reagan at the table.

The other guys laughed off her jab, but Deacon could tell she'd meant it. The problem was that he couldn't deny it.

* * *

Reagan took an Uber to the bar, already knowing what was in store for her tonight—and it didn't involve driving. It would consist of consuming as many drinks as possible to forget the fact that Deacon was on a date with another woman.

She walked into O'Malley's and spotted her group in their usual corner. She decided to stop there first before getting a drink and was glad she did, because Chris was waiting with a cold Corona.

"You look like you could use this," the other woman said under the rowdy bar noise, just loud enough to Reagan to hear.

They connected eyes and she said, "Thank you. God knows I do."

They'd never outright talked about the night she'd shared with Deacon or anything else like that—not much beyond Chris's own observations on their test day. But Reagan had a feeling that Chris knew what was up between them. She supposed she didn't mind that. It was nice to have someone on her side, rooting for them. Although, there really wasn't much to root for anymore. Deacon had made that abundantly clear between his letter and now tonight's date.

Reagan downed her beer as quickly as she could and then made her way to the bar for another drink.

"What can I get ya, Cassie?" Charlie asked.

"Something strong. Taste is not a priority."

He winced. "Rough day, huh?"

"You could say that."

The older man mixed together a few different types of hard alcohol and added a splash of orange juice. "Strength _and_ taste. I pride myself on not selling my customers short."

Reagan laughed softly. "I appreciate it." She tried the drink, nodded and slipped him a good tip. "Keep 'em coming," she said as she turned away to return to her table.

Two hours later, the majority of the group was ready to call it a night.

"I'll see you all in the morning," Hondo said as he slid out of their booth.

Luca stood, saying, "Hasta mañana mi familia."

Everyone chuckled at his random Spanish, but Reagan didn't move.

"Cas, you want to ride home with me?" he asked.

"Aw, look at you, calling it home," she mused. "Nah, I think I may stay out longer. I've got a pretty good buzz going. You can't mess with that."

"Need a wingman?" Street asked her, smiling.

"Sure. The more the merrier."

Chris looked between them, a slight frown wrinkling her brow. When Luca talked to Street for a minute, she leaned in to say to Reagan, "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Go drinking with Street."

Reagan bristled a bit, and said, "You make it sound like he's a creeper, like he's gonna roofie my drink the moment we're alone."

Chris scoffed. "Oh, come on. We both know he's not like that. All I'm saying is…just be careful."

Reagan forced a sweet smile. "Always am."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I hope you're all having a great summer! Thanks for sticking with me and reviewing!**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Reagan felt it before she even opened her eyes.

The throbbing headache, rolling stomach acid and oppressing regret could only mean one thing—she had the mother of all hangovers.

When she finally gathered enough courage to open her eyes, she was thankful that the curtains were closed, but the dim morning light revealed shapes that weren't familiar to her. The mattress beneath her was soft, the walls ocean blue. Clothes were tossed about and sat on the floor in front of an empty hamper.

She was definitely in a guy's bedroom.

 _Shit. How drunk did I get last night?_

She liked to drink as much as the average adult, but once in a while, she took it too far. This hangover rivaled the one she had after her friend Becky's bachelorette party in Vegas two years before. She couldn't remember a damn thing after midnight.

She remembered going to a club with Street. They had a few drinks and danced. Then they followed some new friends to a bar across the road and did more of the same. That was when things got hazy in her memory.

Was she in _Street's_ bedroom?

Reagan sat up quickly and instantly regretted it. She held a hand to her pounding head and let her eyes wander only as fast as she could handle it. She glanced under the covers and noted her bra and underwear, but that was all she wore. Oh, wow. Had she slept with someone?

Reaching over, she frantically pulled at the lump of blankets and pillows next to her. She expected to discover someone there but found it empty. Okay, so she was somewhat dressed and sleeping alone. That had to count for something, right? Maybe she hadn't completely fucked everything up.

Reagan slid out of bed and found her discarded clothing on the floor. She redressed and tiptoed across the room, spotting a bagged suit hanging in the closet. She unzipped one side and peeked in, indeed finding what she suspected would be there—dress blues adorned with Street's name on the chest.

Now she definitely knew this was his bedroom. So where was the man himself?

Continuing to be as quiet as possible, Reagan opened the door and walked down the hallway. She heard someone moving around in the kitchen, but they were crouched behind the island. She sagged against the counter and said, "Morning hot stuff."

A woman darted upright, her blue eyes wide with alarm. She let out a squeak at the same time as Reagan. It only took her a second though to realize that it was Street's mom.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I thought..."

The older woman shook her head. "It's okay. Jimmy's on the couch. I found him there this morning. He'll be up soon to go to work."

Reagan touched her aching forehead and slipped onto the tall stool at the counter. A cup of steaming coffee appeared in front of her. She glanced up with a weak smile. "Thank you so much."

Street's mom nodded. "You look like you could use it. These too," she said, shaking out two painkillers and placing them next to the mug.

"You would be right. Again, thank you." She took them quickly and set down her warm drink. "I'm Reagan by the way."

"Karen," the dark-haired woman responded. "I'm Jimmy's mother. I suppose I should say I'm his maid or something. He'd probably get upset if he knew I was telling his lady friends that he lives with his mom. I guess if we're getting technical, though, I should say that I live with him. He's helping me out for a little bit."

Reagan shook her head. "It's okay, you don't have to explain. He's already told me about you."

"Oh, so you two really cut down to the chase, huh? Parent talk on the first date? I mean, you slept over, so things must be serious..."

She choked on her coffee and sputtered for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Karen said, grabbing her a napkin. "That was forward of me. It's really none of my business."

"Mom, are you giving Cas a hard time?" a sleep-heavy voice asked from behind Reagan.

She spun around and thankfully didn't have coffee in her mouth this time, because she would have choked all over again. Street stood in his boxers next to one end of the couch as he righted the shirt in his hands. Shadows danced in the divots of his defined abs and pecs, which rippled with each movement of his strong arms. Reagan directed her attention at the floor, as if the worn linoleum was the most fascinating thing in the room. She didn't feel right ogling him. He looked amazing shirtless and the sight sent strange sensations fluttering throughout her core, but they were friends, and that was it.

She wondered if that had changed the night before. If only she could remember!

"'Cas'? As in Cassie? _The_ Cassie?" Karen asked. "You said your name was Reagan."

"It is. Cassie is what they call me at work."

Karen's face took on a more excited expression. "And here I was, about to give you the 'would you like me to call you a cab?' speech!"

"Mom, seriously?" Street said, his tone taking on a slight whine. It sounded like he was ashamed to be exposed as a playboy, which wasn't news to Reagan, so she wasn't sure why it bothered him.

"Jimmy, you should have told me Cassie was the one staying over." She looked at Reagan. "I've been meaning to thank you for taking care of my boy while he was in the hospital. My new job wouldn't allow me any additional absences. It killed me to be away from him. But he assured me that you were there to help him." She reached across the counter and squeezed Reagan's hands within her own. "You have no idea how much that meant to me. And for taking in Luca when I got out of prison. You are a brave woman."

Reagan laughed. "I won't deny it. But really, it's no problem. Luca is a great guy. And I can say the same about Jimmy here," she teased.

"Oh God, don't start that," Street said, rolling his eyes, but with a grin.

"He's had nothing but good things to say about you," Karen added. "You know, you're much prettier than he described."

As Reagan hid a blush, Street said, "Ma! Come on..."

"What?" she asked innocently, but a smile gave her away.

Choosing to ignore the subject, for it was probably too embarrassing, Street walked around the island and poured himself a cup of coffee. Karen conveniently excused herself from the room. He leaned against the counter and nursed his drink.

"Man, she can be so awkward," he said.

Reagan stifled a laugh. "She's just doing her motherly duties."

"A little too well if you ask me."

Reagan glanced around to make sure they were indeed alone, before she asked demurely, "Street…what happened last night?"

He squinted at her for a moment. "You don't remember?"

A sinking feeling settled in her gut. She shook her head.

"We didn't have sex, if that's what you're wondering."

She breathed a sigh of relief. Not that it would have been a bad thing—she certainly found him attractive in that sense—but her love life was already complicated enough. At the same time, the way he said it didn't make her think she was out of the clear. "Is there something else?"

He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck. "We kissed. But, uh, you passed out pretty quickly."

She tried not to flinch. So many mixed feelings swam in her brain and lingered in her belly. She wanted to feel glad about that, but to pass out while getting intimate? Ugh, now she was the one embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she said, barely meeting his gaze. "I'm not very good at this friend thing."

He gave her a kind smile, but a bit of sadness remained in his stormy eyes. She hated that she put it there.

"Don't worry about it. I could say the same thing. I drank a lot last night, too. Mistakes were made on both sides," he said.

Reagan nodded. "You'd think that we're old enough to know better by now." Faint amusement glinted in her expression.

"Yeah, right?" He sighed and put down his mug. "Do you want me to take you home before work?"

"Nah. I have a change of clothes in my locker. Do you mind giving me a ride in, though?"

"Not at all. I didn't scare you off last time?"

She laughed softly. "It would take a lot more than a fast motorcycle to scare me off. I live for that shit."

* * *

About thirty minutes later, Street started his Ducati and waited as Cassie put on his extra helmet. She climbed behind him and slid her arms around his waist. He loved the contrast between her soft touch and hard body against his back. He couldn't help but think of the night before. Guilt gnawed at him from the inside. He hadn't been completely honest with her. If anything, though, it was an act of self-preservation. He didn't want to say it out loud for fear of making it true—that Cassie had feelings for someone else...

 _Street took Cassie's hand and led her up the path to his house. The porch light was on, casting long shadows across the yard. His mom must have left it on. She had slipped right back into that role, watching over him, doing whatever she could to make up for lost time as a mother. He just hoped she wouldn't be waiting up for him when he stepped through the door._

 _When they walked inside, he was relieved to find a single lamp on and no one in sight. He was old enough to bring women home, but encountering his mother in the process could be a real cock block._

 _Cassie looked around, swaying from the effects of the alcohol. "I like your place. It's cute."_

 _He smiled at her. "I don't think guys want to hear 'your place is cute.'"_

 _She moved toward him and continued to intertwine her fingers with his. "What would you rather I say?"_

 _He made a low humming sound, finding himself distracted by her lush pink lips. "Your place is so manly... Where's the bedroom?"_

 _They both laughed a little harder than they should have, flirty eyes locked onto each other. He saw her glance at his lips as well and her expression sobered slightly._

" _So where is your room?" she asked._

 _Street's heartrate accelerated. He wondered if he needed to take a step back; that maybe he was taking advantage of her. It was a fleeting thought, as he was also a little too far gone. He wanted her so badly. He'd wanted her since the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Cassie was a grown woman. She'd had plenty of opportunities to go home, call it a night. It had also been her idea to come back with him. He really didn't want to argue with that._

 _She followed him down the hallway and he pushed open the bedroom door. His covers and clothes were strewn everywhere, much to his embarrassment. He hadn't planned on bringing a woman back tonight, let alone Cassie, but she didn't seem to notice or care. She climbed onto the bed, her ass shimmying from side to side as she crawled toward the pillows at the top. She turned around and laid back against them, gazing at him expectantly through the murky darkness._

 _Street followed, crawling up her body until they were chest to chest. His nose and lips brushed her neck as one of his hands traced the bottom of her tank top. She arched against him, her hips undulating with need. He let his fingers skim across her smooth belly and upward, cupping one full breast within his hand. Her bra was thin, the nipple hardening against his palm through the fabric. He pushed up her tank top and helped it over her head. Her skin looked pale in contrast with the black bra. Not wasting any time, he settled his lips over the delicate material, taking her into his mouth. Cassie clawed at his back, getting a handful of t-shirt and returning the favor of removing it._

 _Then her mouth was on his, hot and insistent. She stroked the inside with her tongue, matching the rhythm to her hips. Street groaned as his desire swelled. He moved his lips back to her neck, nipping blindly at the silky column as he tugged off her shorts._

 _She gasped softly, then let out a breathy whisper. "Deacon..."_

 _Street stopped so suddenly, it was as if someone had doused him with ice cold water. His body froze above her and he blinked away the lust that clouded his vision._

" _Why'd you stop?" she asked, her eyes still closed as she moved against him._

 _Promptly, he rolled away, rubbing both hands over his face. "I...I need to use the bathroom."_

" _Right now?"_

" _Yeah, I'll just be a minute."_

 _Cassie sighed and snuggled into the pillows. He knew she'd be out within minutes. "Okay...but hurry back."_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: One more month until we get new episodes! I don't know about you, but I can't wait!**

 **Thanks for reviewing, and enjoy! :)**

* * *

Street walked into the locker room and subtly nodded hello to his fellow team members as he opened his locker.

Luca clapped his hands together, drawing extra attention to Street's presence. "Oh, walk of shame! Walk of shame right here!"

Hondo gave Street a big smile. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like you'd expect. Shitty," he mumbled.

Hondo and Luca chuckled, the latter saying, "You sure look like it."

Street scoffed. "Thanks."

Luca shrugged. "What're friends for?"

Deacon looked between them. "What'd I miss last night?"

"Just Cassie and our boy here getting trashed on a work night. Not something I'd recommend, by the way," Hondo said.

Deacon frowned, hesitating for a moment before continuing to rifle through his locker. "Oh yeah?"

"You were too busy gettin' your freak on with _Danielle_ ," Luca added with a smirk.

Street glanced over at his team leader, a deep scowl cutting into his brow.

Oblivious to the other man's scrutiny, Deacon waved them off. "It wasn't like that at all. I kissed her at the door. That's it. To be honest, it still didn't feel...right. I think we would just be better as friends."

"What about her?" Hondo asked. "How does she feel?"

Deacon shrugged. "I got the feeling that she wanted more, but I don't want to string her along if it's not right."

Street wondered if there was a deeper meaning to his statement. Cassie had said the other man's name—okay, more like moaned it—and he wasn't sure if that was where it ended. Did Deacon have feelings for her as well? It would explain their argument after Cassie got 'shot' during the training exercise. Deacon had acted uncharacteristically aggressive about the whole thing.

If Cassie really did have feelings for Deacon, and the man was out dating other women, he wouldn't blame her for getting drunk in the face of so much disappointment. And he'd fallen right into the middle of it—a substitute to pass the time. Normally, that wouldn't have bothered him, but when it came to Cassie, for some reason, it did.

Street slammed his locker shut and instantly regretted it. He didn't want the attention back on him, but that was what he got.

"So, my roomie never came home last night," Luca said, turning toward him. "What'd she do, sleep it off on the beach?"

Street felt a pang of something in his chest. It shot through his bloodstream like a kick of adrenaline. He made of point of looking at Deacon as he said, "Nah, I brought her back to my place."

The older man stopped in the middle of lacing up his boots and glanced at Street, his dark eyes unblinking.

Luca didn't seem to notice the exchange, because he kept right on talking. "Oh, come on, man. Did you guys hook up? I love you like a brother, but if you break her heart, I'll break your face."

Now it was Street's turn to call off the dogs. " _I_ would never hurt her. But I'm not gonna kiss and tell."

"It's never stopped you before," Deacon shot back.

The other two laughed, agreeing, but Street picked up on the bite in Deacon's tone. There was definitely something going on there.

"Cassie's one of us. She's..." Street paused, trying to find the right words. "She's special."

Deacon stared at him, almost as if he were sizing him up. Then, he went back to lacing up his opposite boot.

Luca threw an arm around Street's shoulder. "You're right about that. And I'm glad you realize it. But still, don't hurt her."

Street chuckled, nodding, though the smile didn't meet his eyes. "I don't think you need to worry about that."

Luckily, no one asked why.

* * *

In the desolate women's locker room next door, Chris watched Reagan walk up to her locker empty-handed.

"Woah. Isn't that what you were wearing last night?"

Reagan hid her face behind a tangle of black hair. "I'm trying to cut back on laundry..."

"Well that's a load of shit if I've ever heard it. Please don't tell me you slept with Street. I told you not to go out with him."

She sighed, her words exasperated. "I didn't sleep with him. We just kissed. Or, at least, that was what he told me..."

"You don't even know what happened? You seriously got that drunk?"

"Hey, don't judge. I know it was a terrible decision. I can feel it in my head," she said, wincing.

"Okay, this has to stop." Chris straddled the bench and motioned for Reagan to sit in front of her. "Do you have feelings for Street?"

Reagan shrugged and sat down. "Yeah. I mean, not like, I'm in love with him or anything, but we're just getting to know each other. Maybe, someday, it could be love..." She didn't sound convinced.

"Okay, what about Deacon? Because I know there's been something going on there. I'm going to assume that's why you got drunk last night? Because he was going on a date with someone else?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Am I really that obvious? Because, God, that's pathetic. For the record, though, I'm not using Street."

Chris just stared at her.

"Really! I'm not." She decided it was time to lay it all out. Chris had proven to be a trustworthy friend. "I want to be with Deacon, okay? Are you happy now? He's the first person I think about when I wake up, and the last when I go to bed. I hate the fact that he's my CO. Street really should be the guy for me. He's not off-limits, he likes me—"

"What makes you think Deacon doesn't like you?"

"I didn't say that..."

Chris leaned forward and leveled her dark eyes with Reagan's, squinting with clear suspicion.

"Dammit! We had sex, okay? Christ, you should be the one interrogating people from now on."

"You slept with Deacon? _Deacon Kay_?"

"Yup. There's only one. Thank God..."

"How the hell did that happen? The man hardly shows any emotion. I know it's in there, but you look up the word professional in the dictionary and there he is! Like... Wow. I wasn't expecting that."

"Well don't expect it to happen again. He's barely spoken to me since. We're 'just friends.'" She made air quotes. "But I don't think that even applies anymore. We were so close in the beginning. He made me feel...special."

"Believe me, you are, because I was starting to think the man was gay. I'd never seen him with anyone... Up until last night."

"Yeah, can we not talk about that?" Reagan asked, getting up to dig through her locker again.

Chris followed her and leaned against the wall. "You're not giving up are you?"

Reagan's voice was muffled. "I'm about to give up on finding some clean fucking clothes!"

"How did your locker get so messy? You've only been here a few weeks and it already looks like a pit."

Reagan sat back on her heels and glared at the other woman. "Are you trying to help me right now? Because I'm getting mixed signals."

Chris laughed and put up her hands in surrender. "Sorry. I'm coming on a little heavy. It's a bad habit. I'm actually trying to help you."

"Then what do you suggest I do? Because I need all the help I can get..." she said, her voice defeated.

"Back off for now. Create some breathing room with Street. If it's not meant to be, then it's not worth either of you getting hurt. And give Deacon some space, too. I promise you, he won't be able to stay away."

"What makes you think that? We shared an amazing night together and then he built this wall around himself. He doesn't want me in there."

Chris shrugged one shoulder. "Well maybe he won't like being alone in there and will just come out to be with you."

Reagan gave her a smirk. "That was quite the metaphor."

"I thought that was pretty good myself." She turned to walk away, throwing over her shoulder, "Now go take a shower. You smell like a distillery."

"Yes, Mother," Reagan said, sticking out her tongue at Chris's retreating form.

* * *

Nothing had prepared Reagan for being in the same room with everyone else, even though she'd known it was coming. They all met every morning to discuss what was going on. But to see Deacon and Street standing across from her, their eyes saying so much without speaking, and then Chris taking it all in... It was too much.

But she kept her cool—it was what she'd been trained to do—calm under pressure.

Deacon gave the group some updates for the day and then they were free to kill time until a call came in. Reagan opted for an intense gym session, even though the thought itself might destroy her. She needed to get running and sweat out all the alcohol in her system. Better yet, she wished she could sweat out all of her bad decisions at the same time.

 _Come on, Reagan, be honest. Are they really such bad decisions?_

She sighed at the voice in her head.

 _No._

She had feelings for both Street and Deacon, but the latter's ran deeper. There was no explanation in her mind as to why—she just couldn't help how she felt. She just wished he felt the same way, or was at least willing to admit it.

* * *

Deacon followed his team out of their meeting space, his eyes on Reagan's back.

How had they gotten to this point? Oh yeah. It was when he'd taken her to bed, thrown her the friend card and then taken a different woman on a date.

He was trying so hard to straighten out this crimp in his life. He'd told himself that one night would be enough. He'd said they were just friends. He'd gone so far as to ask out Danielle.

But none of it fixed anything. It just made the ache in his chest worse.

And now she'd spent the night with Street.

That moment when the other man had confessed to it in the locker room, Deacon had briefly considered punching him straight in the face and breaking that pretty nose all over again. He felt disgusted by the thought of Street's hands on Reagan. His lips...

But Reagan was a grown woman. She could make her own choices. And he'd pushed her into it—right toward Street.

"Hey, Deacon!"

He shook away his thoughts and turned toward the voice behind him. Captain Cortez jogged to catch up.

"Hey, Captain. What's up?"

"I just got a list of people who are due for their annual climbing evals. You and Street were on there."

"Oh, okay. When is it scheduled?"

"Two hours from now."

He chuckled. "They love doing that on short notice, don't they?"

"It keeps you on your toes, that's for sure," she said, smiling.

"And that's the job, right? Okay, I'll let Street know. I wasn't aware the last one was happening until five minutes before, so thanks for the heads up."

"Anytime."

When the captain walked away, Deacon found Street in the gym on the treadmill next to Reagan's. He could've sworn that the woman's back stiffened in his presence. And Street looked just downright annoyed.

Deacon motioned for Street to remove his earbuds. "Climbing eval at 10."

"Seriously? I guess I should save some then," Street said, slowing his pace. "The whole team?"

"No, just you and me." Even he noticed that his tone was rueful.

They exchanged a resigned nod and then looked to Reagan. She glanced back and he could tell she was feigning disinterest. He gave her the smallest smile, his eyes soft on her flushed face, but turned away before he could see her reaction. He knew she probably wasn't pleased with him right now and he could do without further rejection. It just made it all too real how much he'd screwed up.

* * *

Two hours later, Deacon met Street at the bottom of the climbing wall. They donned their safety gear and got into position. On their evaluator's go, they began.

They stayed about even until Street tripped up and found himself hanging from a single handgrip. At that point, Deacon had passed him and was too far away to help—there was no going back down. Street recovered, swinging his legs until he could reach out and grab onto another point. He climbed quickly, slipping once more before leveraging himself onto the ledge at the top, where Deacon sat waiting, his chest heaving from exertion.

Street rubbed his gloved hands together and took in the view from their high point.

"Regretting that bender now? It's gonna show on your score," Deacon remarked.

Street shook his head and released an exasperated sigh. "What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem."

"Bullshit. You've been up my ass since Cassie joined the team and she took one in the vest for me. Don't try to deny it."

Deacon finally looked at him.

"I don't know what's happened between you two-" Street began.

"I could say the same thing," Deacon shot back.

Street let out a short laugh. "So, you're saying something did happen. It was just a hunch, but your reply makes me think there's truth to it."

"What has or hasn't happened between me and Reagan is none of your business."

"Reagan? What happened to keep it professional? Does she call you David?"

Deacon tried not to imagine her pleading voice in the darkness, begging him to fuck her. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Street was baiting him and he refused to give into it. He was better than that.

"She does, doesn't she? What other secrets do you have? Because I've got one of my own."

Deacon's eyes blazed like warm embers in the California sunshine. He breathed heavily through his nose and willed himself to keep it together. "If you touched her..."

Street smiled, those trademark dimples taunting him, "What're you going to do if I did?"

In a moment of part weakness/part rage, Deacon reached across the space between them and grabbed Street's vest. Street pushed his hands away and surged forward headfirst, tackling him. Deacon punched him in the side, trying to get him off. Street threw an elbow in retaliation, drawing blood from the corner of Deacon's mouth. Deacon shot his arm between them, bringing it up and around the back off Street's neck so he could change their position. They rolled, stopping at the edge of the rooftop with Deacon pinning Street, the younger man's head hanging over the side. Shouts from down below were lost in the grunts of their scuffle.

"She has feelings for you, Deke! Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?" Street yelled, grasping Deacon's hands where they were fisted on his vest.

"What? Did she say that?"

Street hesitated. "Not exactly."

"Then how do you know?"

"I just do, okay?"

Deacon snapped out of it, felt his blood ease to a simmer. He heaved Street back onto the rooftop and gave a quick wave below to signal that everything was fine.

They both sat back, elbows on their knees, panting and staring at each other.

"She wants you. Not me," Street said in defeat.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: We're getting so close to the premiere! Only two more weeks! I want to thank WishfulThinker66, FaithOriginal, Super Gran, and canadice for reviewing through the summer. Your kind and enthusiastic words have kept me motivated!**

 **Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

After a torturous spar session with Luca—something he always managed to make fun—Reagan decided they needed a water break. She still nursed a slight headache, but all of the physical activity was making her feel mostly normal again. She followed him into the break room, their conversation centered on what to have for dinner tonight, and he passed her a bottle of water from the fridge. The cool liquid quenched her thirst and she could already feel her body temp dropping.

That only lasted a minute though, as Deacon strode into the room, his determined steps saying he meant business. She wanted to blend into the background and hope that maybe he only needed them to meet as a group, but no such luck. He zeroed in on her and kept their dark eyes locked until he stood before her.

"Hey, boss. How'd your climbing eval go?" Luca asked.

Deacon didn't look at him. "Fine. Reagan, I need to talk to you."

Her chest exploded in a flutter of nerves and desire, which settled like an anchor in her low belly. She nodded and trailed after him, throwing a look of confusion at Luca. He mirrored it and shrugged.

 _What the hell could Deacon want?_ she thought to herself as they walked down the busy corridor. Did he find out about her night with Street? Because that wasn't his business. Not when he decided to date another woman right under her nose.

Reagan noticed the scent of soap in his wake, something spicy and clean. His short hair appeared damp and glistened under the harsh florescent lights. She hated resisting the urge to touch him; run her fingers through it and make it messy. He was always so well put together. She wanted to mess him up a little bit.

They reached Deacon's office and he stepped aside to let her walk by. She took in the small room with its single foggy window, tidy desk, and dual filing cabinets. She stopped in the middle of the room and felt her heart skip a beat when he closed the door behind him.

"Listen, if you're mad about last night, you have no right—"

She didn't make it any further, because his mouth was on hers and her brain couldn't catch up to what was happening. She leaned into him—damn her needy body—and clutched his upper arms as she allowed herself a moment to surrender. Deacon breathed deeply and pulled her closer, pressing his hard body against her own.

Finally, Reagan put a hand on his chest and lightly pushed him back.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Not caring," he replied, and moved in to kiss her again, but she urged him back once more.

"Explain."

He sighed and gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, stirring up those feelings in her chest all over again. "My whole life is 'to care.' Between my home and my job, I've always been careful. I've always made the best decisions as a team leader and for the people of this city. I've always done what's right, and frankly I'm tired of it."

"I'm still not sure where I come into this."

"You were right. We have something that we've started, and I think we need to see it through."

"What about the fact that you're my superior?"

"It's like you said, you're a temp. This work arrangement won't last forever."

"So…you're just going to throw caution to the wind and hope that Hicks and Cortez don't dismantle your team?"

"Not exactly. I have a proposal."

"For me? That's a little soon, don't you think?" she said, smiling sweetly.

He scoffed. "You know what I mean. I, uh, I'm not going to tell anyone about us. Because this is temporary, it's better if we just keep it between us for now. It's not worth risking our jobs. But there is one more thing."

Her eyes narrowed on him. "Okay…"

"When we're working, we're Cassie and Deacon—focused and professional," he stated, gesturing with his hands.

She nodded. "Easy. I wouldn't expect it any other way."

Deacon let out a shaky breath and grinned. His smoldering gaze traveled over her face and he reached for her. "Come here…"

As his lips collided with hers again, she knew she was giving in too easily. She wanted to resist and tell him to go to hell, that he'd caused her enough grief and embarrassment for one lifetime. But his lips were so soft and he smelled so damn good. And, fuck, she had to face it—he held her heart in the palm of his hand. He was her kryptonite and, like he'd expressed to her, she just didn't care anymore.

Deacon backed her up toward his desk, pulling off her athletic shirt as they went.

"I'm sweaty," she whispered against his mouth.

"I don't care."

"But I stink. I should take a shower…"

"I don't care," he repeated.

Reagan's backside hit the edge of the desk, and he immediately scooped his hands under her thighs and lifted her onto the smooth surface, pushing papers and pens aside. She gripped his shoulders and kissed him harder, needing more, craving it like an addict who'd gone too long without a fix.

He moaned and winced, drawing back slightly.

Reagan frowned and held a hand to his cheek so she could look at his lips. She hadn't noticed the small cut on one corner.

"What happened?" she asked, stroking it softly with her thumb.

"Just a little mishap earlier. I'm fine," he said, and returned to kissing her before she could ask any more questions.

She knew there had to be a story there, but let it go because there were other things on her mind now, like getting him inside her as soon as possible.

She tugged on Deacon's shirt and drew it up over his head. She took a second to sweep her hands over his muscular chest, savoring the warmth of his skin against the air conditioned coolness of her own. A small shiver traveled through him and she smiled. They kissed as she worked on unbuckling his pants. Then, he stepped back enough so she could peel off her shorts and underwear.

Deacon drew her to edge of the desk and moved between her legs once more. He lifted her thighs so that they wrapped around his waist, and then sank into the silky heat before him. She hissed out a breath as she took him in deep, loving how it felt when they were one.

They'd been together once before, but this time was so oddly intimate. The lights were bright, almost blinding, whereas the last time, she could barely see him in the dim bedroom. She should have felt self-conscious, but the way he was looking at her made her feel like the sexiest woman in the world. He held her hooded gaze, mere inches apart, and then tipped his forehead against hers as he worked up to a steady pace, thrusting without abandon. Her breath came in jolted huffs, and she had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from crying out when he brought her to the peak of oblivion. Her fingernails dug into his hard shoulders and he groaned into her mouth as he also found his release.

Suddenly, a knock echoed throughout the small room.

With wide eyes, Deacon stepped back and adjusted himself so he could zip up his pants. Reagan slipped off the desk and dashed around for her clothes, pulling on the bottom half. She tossed him his shirt and then smiled at the disheveled picture he made. His usually tidy hair stuck out in all directions from where she'd run her fingers through it multiple times. She quickly hurried over and matted it back into place. He thanked her and then motioned for her to hide under his desk, which had a hip-to-floor metal front.

Just as she scurried underneath, Deacon turned to answer the second knock at his door.

Captain Cortez smiled. "Almost didn't think you were in there."

"Ah, I was finishing up a call. What can I do for you?"

She motioned inside. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Deacon swallowed hard and glanced over his shoulder. Unable to see Reagan, he opened the door wider and backed up. "Sure…"

Luckily, Cortez left the door open and stepped in only a few feet. "I'm curious to know what happened at the end of your climbing evaluation today. I heard there was an incident between you and Street?"

Deacon casually neatened up the pushed aside files on his desk as he said, "Yeah, he got tripped up on his harness and almost fell, but I got him. We're good."

"The guys said you were bleeding."

He gestured to his lip. "I caught an elbow trying to grab him. I've had worse," he said with a half-smile.

Cortez scribbled a few things on the folder in her hand. "So it was just an accident."

Deacon nodded and sat on the edge of his desk and braced his arms on either side, long legs crossed out in front. He knew not to cross his arms because some saw that as a sign of insecurity, which could be interpreted as dishonesty.

"All right, I just wanted to follow up with you. Glad you're both okay."

Deacon got up and rounded his desk, trying to make it appear like he had work to do. He sat in the worn computer chair and gave her a relaxed grin. "Thanks. Me, too."

When Cortez was gone, Reagan crawled out from underneath the desk. Luckily, she was fully clothed.

"Is that really what happened?" she asked.

"You should probably go," he replied, and watched an expression of disappointment sweep over her flushed face. She probably thought he was dismissing her again, regretting the whole thing. He didn't want her to think that at all. "We can talk about it later. I want to see you after work."

The light came back into her eyes and he had to smile.

"I'd like that too, but I was making plans with Luca when you came to get me. I think he's feeling neglected."

Deacon wanted to laugh. She sounded like she was talking about a sad puppy waiting at home for her, which at times could describe their friend Luca.

"But I have an idea," she finished, flashing him a grin.

* * *

Reagan paddled after the two men on surfboards in front of her, her hands cutting through the sparkling water. The ocean was relatively smooth today, perfect for a beginner. Up ahead, Deacon laughed, most likely a reaction to one of Luca's usual quips. They crested the subtle roll of a wave and then stopped to sit up on their boards. She pulled up beside them and did the same, admiring Deacon's toned physique and hoping Luca wouldn't notice her doing so.

"Okay, it looks like we've got a set coming up. You remember what we said on the beach?" Luca asked him.

"Paddle like your life depends on it, then pop up, center your balance…" Deacon repeated. "Am I forgetting anything?"

"Have fun," Reagan said, smiling at the cliché.

"Yeah, and don't drown," Luca added.

Deacon laughed. "I'll try not to."

He used his legs to turn his board and started paddling again, keeping up with the building wave. Just as it crested, he popped up, held his stance for a solid second, and then promptly lost his footing and fell in.

Reagan and Luca cringed, but with a laugh when they saw him resurface. Deacon ran a hand over his wet hair and Reagan had to struggle not to remember doing the same thing to him earlier. The image of him with untidy hair had been the ultimate victory for her.

He paddled back and reclaimed his spot next to them. Luca reached out to give him an enthusiastic 'low five.'

"Alright, man! You did it! Even it was just for a second."

"It's a lot harder than it looks," Deacon replied.

"That's what she said!" Reagan and Luca yelled at the same time.

Deacon laughed. "You two really are alike. It's scary."

"You'll learn to love her, just like you guys love me," Luca said with a big smile.

Deacon glanced past him and shared an affectionate look with Reagan. "Yeah, I think I already do…"

* * *

Two hours later, when the sun began to set, Luca announced that he was starving, so he volunteered to order a pizza.

"Okay, I need just one more wave!" Deacon hollered as Luca headed in. The other man gestured to 'hang loose,' without looking back.

"You should stay and have dinner with us," Reagan said.

"You don't think he'll find it suspicious?"

"Not at all. If I don't insist, you know he will. Besides, you guys were hanging out well before I came along."

"Alright, point made. I'd be happy to stay for dinner."

She grinned triumphantly.

Deacon glanced at the shoreline and then back at Reagan, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

"What?" she asked, suspicious of what that look could mean.

He slipped off his board and swam the short distance to her, tugging on her leg until she fell off with a giggle. When she reemerged, he pulled her into his arms and let her wrap her legs around his waist while he treaded water. He kissed her exactly how she wanted to be kissed—what she'd needed all this time. It felt _normal_ , like they'd been doing this forever.

Everything was falling into place, and she could not have been happier.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Tomorrow's the day! I've been seeing commercials for the premiere and it looks very exciting! I can't wait!**

 **Thank you to my awesome reviewers: Super Gran, WishfulThinker66, and FaithOriginal! Here's something to hold you over until then!**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Deacon sat with Reagan on the roof of his apartment building, each with a glass of wine in hand as they snuggled on the couch that overlooked the city. They'd made dinner together, which had mostly consisted of Reagan eating ingredients while watching Deacon cook, since cooking wasn't her favorite. Nonetheless, he'd enjoyed her company.

The past two weeks had been blissful for him, ever since they'd decided to give their relationship a try—still in secret, of course. He had missed this feeling of togetherness, of sharing something so deeply personal. Reagan made him truly happy, and he'd been a fool to ignore that in the beginning. Thank goodness he came to his senses before he almost lost her to another man. Speaking of...

"How've things been with Street lately?" he asked, trying to come off as casual and not paranoid.

She sighed and snuggled closer into the curve of Deacon's arm, which he took as a good sign. "Fine. I think he's a little bummed that it didn't work out between us, but it wasn't meant to be."

"And we are?"

Her dark eyes looked up at him over the rim of her wineglass. "Don't you think so?"

Deacon smiled, admiring the sweep of her long lashes. "I do."

"Good," she said, and rested her head on his shoulder.

Damn, he could get used to this.

"It never gets old," she whispered.

"What?"

"This view."

"Agreed," he said, studying her content expression.

She looked at him again and must've realized he was talking about her. He thought he saw a faint blush seep into her cheeks.

"When did you become so charming?"

He chuckled. "It's not exactly in my job description."

"Oh come on. Think about how smoothly the crime rates would go down by exposition of Deacon Kay's charm."

He laughed harder now. "Pretty sure it wouldn't work like that."

"You're right," she said, blowing out a theatrical breath. "Guess I'll have to keep your charm all to myself." With a teasing stroke, she rested her hand at the top of his thigh and inched upward. "It's hard a job, but somebody's gotta do it."

When he laughed this time, the sound had turned rough and deep. "You're insatiable," he murmured against her parted lips. He was referring to the fact that she'd jumped him in the living room before any cooking could be done.

"You love it," she replied, very lightly brushing their lips together but still holding back.

"I wasn't complaining," he said, and then kissed her with intent, clumsily relocating their wine glasses to the low table in front of them. He moved over her, settling between her legs as they sank into the patio cushions.

They took their time, savored the moment. It didn't help that they were technically in a public space. He wasn't in any hurry to get caught, literally with his pants down, by one of the building tenants. But it had been ages since he'd had a good old-fashioned make out session.

He curved a hand up the outside of her right thigh and underneath the hem of her bright blue dress. He could not get over the beautiful sight she made in a sundress. It had shocked the hell out of him, and given leeway to their pre-dinner quickie, so he was partly to blame for that.

Eventually they had to come up for air. Deacon nudged her over so he could lie against the back of the couch and return her to the curve of his arm. She touched his face, tracing his beard, as she studied his features.

"What're you doing tomorrow?" she asked.

"I don't know. Luca mentioned something about a softball game with a bunch of guys from work."

"What about the ladies? Are we invited?"

"Well, I don't know. The guys might be afraid of getting their asses handed to them."

Reagan's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Very true. There is a strong possibility of that."

"But in all seriousness, we'd love to have you there. Chris, too."

"Okay, count me in. I'll message her in the morning." Reagan was quiet for a moment. "What time is it right now?"

Deacon twisted his wrist from where it rested behind her head and looked at his watch face. "9:50."

"Oh shit. I'm going to be late." She launched off the couch and began to gather their stuff.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"It's Friday. _Blue Bloods_ is on."

"Oh yeah," he said. "You watch that with your neighbor, right?"

"Yes, and she's going to be wondering where I am." Reagan stopped and pointed at an unopened bottle of wine next to their glasses. "Can I take that? She'll forgive me if I bring her wine."

Deacon smiled. "If it helps, sure."

"Thank you!" she said quickly, snatching it off the table. She tried to grab more things, precariously balancing them in her arms.

"Don't worry about the rest of the stuff. I can get it downstairs."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, go ahead. I don't want you to be even later on my account."

"Thank you," she repeated, and then leaned in to kiss him. It was quick yet firm. She took off for the door, but halted when he called out to her.

"I'll see you tomorrow, babe."

Reagan's face lit up and she scurried back to give him another kiss. "Bye," she whispered, kissing him repeatedly.

He laughed, breaking the sequence of pecks. "Okay, go. You're already going to be pretty late."

"I know, but you're worth it," she said, and then added one more for good measure before running off with a wave.

* * *

Reagan sped home and parked next to Luca's car in her driveway. She didn't bother stopping in to her own place first, just headed next door. She knocked on the screen door, but saw that the front was ajar, so she pulled open the outside door and stepped inside.

"Hey, June! I'm sorry I'm late. The movie went longer than I thought it would…"

"Not to worry, honey! We saved a spot for you!"

 _'We'?_ Reagan wondered. Maybe she was referring to her tabby cat, Mr. Dancy.

Flickers from the television bounced off the flowered wallpaper. She spotted two silhouettes on the couch and frowned. When she rounded it, she almost burst out laughing.

Sitting next to June, Luca held a cup of tea in one large hand and a pastry in the other. Mr. Dancy sat in his lap, tail swishing.

"Hey, Cas! June made these killer blueberry scones. You've gotta try one," he said, before taking a big bite.

Reagan set down the bottle of wine as she took a seat between them. "For you," she said, kissing June's wrinkled cheek.

June patted her short gray curls. "Oh my, you sure know the way to a woman's heart. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, but a lady loves a good Merlot," she said in the British accent that she'd somehow managed to keep after all these years.

As June poured tea into a china cup for Reagan, Luca shoved a scone into her hand. "Seriously, try it."

"This isn't my first time here, you know," Reagan said, laughing.

"Then why've you been holding out on me?" Luca asked in an accusing tone.

"Who invited you anyway?"

"Well, I did, honey," June said. "I got worried when you didn't show up, so I knocked on the door and there was this big, strong man in your house. I was wondering when you'd introduce me to your new squeeze."

Reagan froze, unsure how June knew about Deacon.

"Oh we're not together," Luca said. "Cassie's letting me stay with her for a bit while I look for a new place."

"And here I thought I'd have to steal you away."

As Luca gave her one of his 100-watt smiles, Reagan sucked in a breath of relief. June patted her arm.

"He's already helped me move that old chair in my bedroom, and on Sunday we're going to rearrange the guest room."

Reagan smiled. "He's really good at rearranging a refrigerator, too."

Luca nudged her. "Hey, low blow. You know I'm working on that. Don't ruin my moment."

She laughed and noticed that the show was about to come back from break. "So what'd I miss?"

* * *

Sometime during the night, Luca dreamt of distant noises—a car door, murmuring voices, boots scratching against sand on pavement. He questioned what they could mean, and why did they seem to be getting closer? He couldn't see; everything was black…

Unfortunately, it was too late for him to realize that it wasn't a dream.

Luca was startled fully awake by the sound of someone smashing in Cassie's front door. Yellow-orange light from the street flooded the dark room, casting multiple moving shadows. He rolled forward off the couch to reach for his service weapon on the coffee table, but the intruders were too fast. He took a sharp blow to the head and found his face pressed to the floor, convulsing again when a boot stomped onto his ribcage. He coughed and writhed, desperate to fight back but he'd been caught badly off guard. A shriek came from down the hall and he knew it had to be his roommate.

"Cassie!" he shouted, wheezing after he took another kick to the gut.

"Luca!" Her scream was shrill, terrified, and that hit him in the pit of his stomach just as bad as the blows he'd taken.

He glanced up, wincing against the blood that dripped past his brow, and tried to get up as Cassie was dragged past him. The shadows had a tight grip on her long, tousled hair, but she thrashed against their hold. She earned a violent punch across the face and went limp, allowing one of the men to throw her over their shoulder without a fight.

"What do you want?" Luca yelled, still trying to right himself and reach for his gun. "Take me instead! You don't need her!"

Apparently the intruders didn't agree, leaving Luca with a parting thump that left him woozy and weak. "We'll be in touch," the last man said.

But Luca wouldn't give up. After sliding his gun off the table, he crawled toward the broken door, calling out Cassie's name. The men had disappeared outside into a dark-colored van. Lying in the doorway, Luca raised his gun and fired a slew of shots at the tires. He didn't want to aim at the inside because there was a chance he could hit Cassie in the process.

Despite his efforts, they screeched down the empty street, leaving the smell of burned rubber in their wake.

Breathing heavy from the physical and emotional exertion, Luca clambered back to the coffee table and retrieved his cell phone. He called 911 and reported the incident to the best of his ability, as his head wouldn't stop spinning.

When that call was completed, he dialed the first person who would need to know about this.

"Luca?" Deacon asked, his voice raspy from sleep. "Isn't it kinda late?"

"They took her, Deke!"

The man's voice suddenly sounded more alert. "What? Who took who?"

"Some thugs took Cassie," he whimpered. "I couldn't stop them. She's gone…"


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thank you WishfulThinker66 for the lovely review! I don't know what I would do without you!**

 **It feels great to be back on a regular schedule and have our show to look forward to!**

 **I hope you all enjoy the unfolding drama. ;)**

* * *

With his heart in his throat, Deacon screeched his car to a halt outside of Reagan's house. Red and blue lights bounced off the neighboring buildings, illuminating the faces of bystanders who had come out in their pajamas to see what the fuss was about. He spotted Luca sitting on the tail end of an ambulance as a paramedic checked the man's bloody forehead.

Jogging over, Deacon asked, "Luca, what the hell happened? Are you all right?"

Luca waved away the medic. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

The paramedic, who appeared barely old enough to be out of high school, said, "He's got a concussion and a bad cut that needs stitches. I think he also broke a few ribs so we'll get an x-ray at the hospital."

Deacon shot Luca an unimpressed glance.

"I'm not going to the hospital!" Luca insisted. "Deke, we need to get these sonsabitches! Who knows what they're gonna do to her! We're on the clock here!"

Deacon felt that stab of panic rise up again. "Tell me what happened. Anything you can remember."

Luca sighed and brought his hands up behind his head, rubbing them over his spiky hair. "It happened so fast, man. I heard noises outside—thought I was dreaming. They broke down the door and gave me a beatin' while they got Cassie. I tried to shoot at their van, but I don't think I could've hit the broad side of a barn at that point. I might've clipped the bumper…"

"Is there anything about them that stood out to you? How many were there?"

"I think there were four guys. On the way out, the last one said, 'we'll be in touch.' His voice, it had a Spanish accent." Luca blew out a tense breath. "What could they want with her, man?"

"It sounds like they're setting up for a ransom situation." Which was good and bad—good for Reagan because it would give her more time, and bad for the team because it would no doubt put them in a tricky position. No matter what, though, they would get her back.

The rest of the team arrived then. Street removed his motorcycle helmet as Chris exited Hondo's vehicle. They all took in the sight of Reagan's demolished front door and the strip of police tape that whipped up and down in the ocean breeze.

"So somebody just took her?" Street hollered to them over the commotion, a sharp line cutting between his brows. "Why would they do that?"

Luca told his story again, appearing more tired with every word. It was nearly four in the morning and he'd endured a lot. Deacon wouldn't blame him for feeling run down after the adrenaline tapered off.

Hondo squeezed Street's shoulder and said, "She'll be okay. We're gonna get her back," to which Luca agreed.

Deacon realized that those two must have thought Street was still having relations with Reagan, and it didn't bother him because it took the heat off his own back. He could tell the man still cared for her and probably had feelings that went beyond friendship. In this moment, though, they all were concerned about Reagan and would do anything to return her home.

Street may not have known the extent of Deacon and Reagan's relationship, but his confession on the rooftop must have clued him in to its intimate nature. That was solidified when he looked directly across at Deacon and said, nodding, "We'll get her back."

* * *

Body-wracking shivers brought Reagan out of her unconscious state. The unforgiving cement floor pressed into her joints and made them ache. She pushed herself up to sitting and almost fell back over when her head spun. Putrid smells assaulted her nose, a mix of mold and various bodily fluids. She touched a hand to her forehead and brought it away sticky. It was too dark around her to see its color, but the metallic scent told her it had to be blood. That would explain why her head hurt so much.

Where the hell was she?

A tiny crack of light lit up one spot on the floor. She felt around her and realized the walls were very close by and the light came from under a door, but there was no knob. She had to be inside some kind of empty closet or storage room. There was literally nothing but dust.

She backed up against the wall and curled up her legs, holding them to her chest as the shivers continued. She cursed the fact that she'd chosen to wear only a tank top and underwear to bed, but who would've thought they'd end up somewhere else by morning?

Reagan tried to remember what happened before this. She'd been having a good dream—about what was beyond her now—and had been startled awake by a dark figure. She recalled being scared and screaming for Luca.

Oh God…was he okay?

She knew that man would fight until his last breath to help someone in need, but he hadn't saved her, so something had gone seriously wrong. She wasn't overly religious, but her job brought her a certain level of faith. When getting shot at on a daily basis, she had to turn to some kind of higher power to keep a level head. She prayed that Luca was all right, that he'd made it out and called for backup.

Deacon.

Reagan felt a fissure in her resolve. She took a deep, shuddering breath and touched her forehead to her knees. Deacon would be so worried about her, and it put him in a difficult situation. He would be moving mountains right now to get her back, all while hiding the fact that he was more than just her CO. He'd have to keep his own level head, and she didn't think she would be able to do that if roles were reversed.

A distant noise and approaching footsteps had Reagan suddenly on high alert. She pushed up to standing because she was determined to face her captor—not cower away from them on a dirty floor. Multiple locks clicked on the other side and the door swung open. Reagan blinked against the assault of light as someone grabbed her arm and wrenched her out of the closet. She stumbled but regained her footing. Her bare feet slapped against cold concrete and another tremor traveled through her whole body.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to keep the shakes out of her voice. "What do you want?"

The man glanced back at her and she couldn't help but recoil.

He wore a classic Day of the Dead mask with dark holes for his eyes, which made them look black and beady.

" _Cállate,"_ he muttered in Spanish.

Reagan dug back in her brain, trying to dust off her Spanish from when she'd spoken it with her family, but she still didn't know what it meant.

He tugged her through what looked like a warehouse, and then to an open office space at the end with three more men. One sat at a computer station in the corner and the other two, both with the same style masks, stood in front of a camera. She had a bad feeling about this.

"No. No, no, no..." she said, trying to pull back from them and drag her feet.

One of the masked men came forward and jerked her out of the other's grasp. With force, he shoved her onto a dingy carpet in front of the camera. When she cried out, her original captor yelled out, _"_ _¡Oye! ¡Cuidadoso!"_

That she knew meant 'careful.' But why would he say that?

The aggressive man lowered himself to her level, knees bent, and said, _"Oye."_ When she ignored him, he yelled it again and gave her head a quick smack. She stared at him, eyes blazing. He reached over and grasped under her chin, squeezing hard. "Officer Cassidy, who is in charge?" he asked in a heavy accent.

She shook her head like she didn't understand the question. She wondered how they knew her name, but it told her that this was personal and not random.

"LAPD SWAT. Who is in charge?"

Reagan now understood what he was asking her. She kept her eyes down and mouth shut. She didn't see the man look past her and nod, which was followed by a crack to the back of the head. Bright light burst behind her eyelids, the equivalent of seeing stars.

The man grabbed her face again. "Look at me! Tell me his name!"

When she ignored him again, she braced for the second blow. It still hurt more than the first.

"Officer Cassidy! We are trying to help you!" He cocked his pistol and put it under her chin. "Tell me his name. I won't ask again. You have more friends who could take your place."

With that, she looked at him. No way would she put her teammates in harm's way.

"Commander Hicks…"

The man nodded. _"Gracias."_

Someone from behind grabbed each of her wrists and she felt a zip-tie slide into place. The man in front of her picked up a roll of duct tape and she tried to turn her head, but he was still able to slap it over her mouth. He stood and directed his attention to the tech guy in the corner.

In Spanish, he asked if they were ready. When he received a nod, he said, "Let's begin."

* * *

Deacon rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the effects of a very early morning. He, along with Street and Hondo, had been scouring as much evidence as they could back at headquarters. They'd successfully sent Luca to the hospital, but only under the guise that he be released after the last stitch was finished. Chris had volunteered to tag along in case he became a flight risk.

The man was livid—and Deacon completely understood that, because he felt the same way.

They didn't seem to be getting far on much. That changed when Captain Cortez stepped into the doorway.

"You guys need to come with me."

 _This can't be good…_ The unspoken words were exchanged between the three men.

They followed Cortez down the hall and into Hicks' office. The commander stood in front of his computer and gave the new arrivals a quick glance. His expression was tight. Deacon had seen that look before and it never made him feel any less nervous.

Hicks pressed play on his computer and a video began streaming on the TV across from them. He circled around his desk and joined the foursome below the flat screen.

"Hello, Commander Hicks," a man said, his face startling in a classic Mexican skull mask. Deacon heard the accent that Luca had referred to as the man carried on. "As you know by now, we have one of yours." He stepped back from the camera and revealed Reagan, who was flanked by two more masked men.

Deacon wanted to throw up—or punch something.

Reagan was on her knees, wearing a blue tank top and matching bikini underwear, and that was all. He wondered if she'd slept like that, or if the men had removed some of her clothing. Either way, he felt his anger run so deep, frankly, it scared him. He was pretty good at keeping a level head and had prided himself on that over the years. But this was different.

He focused on the TV once more, trying to put his rage aside so he wouldn't miss anything important that could help get her back.

"You arrested one of ours. Our lieutenant…" the man continued. Deacon understood he was referring to someone high up in their gang hierarchy. "Miguel Rodriguez. You are holding him in the California State Prison. Bring him to us and a small plane at the private airfield west of LAX, and you will get her back."

Deacon watched as the man unsheathed a machete and seized a fistful of Reagan's dark hair, twisting her head back. His eyes widened and he almost looked away. If they executed her and he had to see it, it would ruin him.

Her captor rested the blade against the column of her neck, which looked so pale in the video. Deacon couldn't help but think about all the times he'd kissed her there, enjoying her velvety skin as they'd made love. Now the sight only brought him fear. He watched a trickle of blood slide down from just the smallest nick. Reagan squeezed her eyes shut and her chest heaved from where it was thrust forward in the awkward position.

Deacon couldn't bear to watch this anymore. He felt like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. He wished he was there in her place…

"You have three hours to comply. Or else it's bagpipes for Officer Cassidy."

The video ended, frozen on that last jarring image.

* * *

Reagan tried to take deep, calming breaths, but the duct tape wouldn't allow it. She felt immense relief that the man hadn't cut her throat or any other body parts. She wasn't sure, though, how much her team could do in three hours. That wasn't much time…

Her original guard came forward and hooked a firm hand under her elbow. She was able to tell him apart from the others by the orange flower on the forehead of his mask. He lifted her to stand and propelled her back toward the closet in the warehouse.

She landed hard on the floor, knowing more bruises would come from it. The man took something out of his pocket and kneeled in front of her, invading the small space. She drew back, something she wouldn't have normally done, but being defenseless made her lack her usual confidence. He ripped the tape off her mouth and held out the open wrapper of a protein bar.

Carefully, Reagan took a bite, chewed slowly, and then spit it back in his face.

The man flinched, swearing under his breath. Swiping a hand over the mask, he finally lifted it off.

Reagan stared back in shock. She couldn't fucking believe it.

"Tommy?" she whispered.

The handsome man glared at her. " _Hola_ , sis."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Thank you WishfulThinker66, canadice, and Super Gran for reviewing! Your positive and enthusiastic words keep me motivated!**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

No one in Hicks' office said anything when the video ended.

Deacon put his hands on his hips and hung his head, eyes closed. He willed himself to take slow breaths. He needed a minute to become more composed, or else he'd fly off the handle and compromise his position on the case.

Hicks finally broke the silence and whispered, "Jesus..."

Deacon raised his head and glanced over at Street, who had his arms crossed and couldn't seem to stand still. Looking beyond him, Hondo's expression was downright murderous.

He knew the feeling.

"Cortez, I need you to dig up everything you can on this Miguel Rodriguez," Hicks instructed, skirting his desk to close the video file, to which Deacon was grateful. He couldn't bear to look at it anymore. "Most importantly, his gang affiliation. We need to know who we're dealing with."

"I think we have a pretty good idea of that," Hondo commented, gesturing at the blank television screen.

"What's the plan?" Street asked. "What can we do to help?"

"Right now, I need you all to hang tight," Hicks said.

"You can't be serious," Deacon said.

Hicks shook his head in dismissal. "You're down two officers, and we don't have all the information yet. When the time comes, I want you ready to move in with Mumford's team."

When Street began to protest, Hicks pointed at them. "That's an order."

Staring at the floor and drawing a deep breath, Deacon refused to make eye contact as he stalked out of the room. He heard Street and Hondo behind him, taking long strides to keep up. When he turned the corner to enter their control room, he practically slammed into Luca and Chris.

"Man, where were you?" Luca asked, sporting a small white bandage above his right brow. "We've been looking everywhere for you guys."

Hondo walked past Deacon and tapped on the computer screen a few times. "There's something you gotta see."

Deacon almost groaned aloud. He didn't want to watch that awful video again but felt it was cowardly to consider walking out. Reagan couldn't ignore her dire situation, so he shouldn't either.

Hondo opened the video file and it began playing on the large computer screen in front of him. The others joined so Deacon walked over, rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin. He watched, blood boiling, until the assailant made the small cut on her throat.

Deacon swallowed and looked away. He couldn't just stand here and not act.

When the video ended, Luca stepped back and said with barely checked anger, "I'm gonna kill these assholes."

"Get in line," Deacon responded as he paced across the room and back again, resembling a caged animal.

"What are our orders?" Chris asked, her brow straight with determination.

Street's voice seethed when he answered, "Nothing. Absolutely-fucking-nothing."

Luca frowned. "You're joking."

"No, Hicks was pretty clear about it," Deacon said. "We're supposed to sit tight and wait for more information."

"Is that what we're gonna do?" Luca asked him. "Because, for starters, I know who has her, and I think I know where she is."

* * *

Reagan didn't know where to start.

A million questions swirled in her head, but she couldn't ask them all at once, so she stated, "I can't remember the last time we saw each other..."

His expression stayed hard; showed no signs of softening. "You should. It was when Mom died."

"That was ten years ago."

"And yet you've kept tabs on me, but haven't bothered to reach out."

"That's not fair, Tommy. I tried calling for years afterwards, but then your number was disconnected. You never picked up before that. It's a two-way street."

"You're a cop, sis. You could've found me if you wanted to."

"I knew you were associating with the wrong sort, and judging by the lack of phone calls coming from your direction, I got the message. I figured you didn't want your 'cop' sister cramping your style."

Tommy studied Reagan's face with dark eyes that matched her own; their mother's eyes, but his lacked the warmth that hers had held. They both had the same delicate, upward slope on the tip of their nose. Other than those two things, and their thick obsidian hair, his features were completely different, being those of their father's.

Reagan glanced away from his scrutiny. She rolled her aching shoulders and tested the zip-ties once more, which of course didn't budge.

"So what's your plan here?" she asked. "And why me? Surely that's not an accident."

Tommy didn't immediately answer so she looked back at him. He was staring at the floor, and she thought she saw a crack in his tough façade.

"It wasn't my idea," he said quietly.

"But here I am."

He glanced up, no doubt hearing the edge in her tone. Now his gaze sparked with heat. "It's not like these guys take no for an answer."

Unblinking and breathless, Reagan asked, "What'd you do, Tommy?"

The man looked over his shoulder, most likely checking that they were still alone. He lowered his voice as he said, "They aren't stupid. They have connections. And that guy on the computer? He can find anything."

"They found out your sister's a cop."

Tommy nodded. "I've been trying to get in with them for a while. This is what it took."

Reagan's mind went on hyper speed through the events that brought her here: the break-in, Luca getting beaten, waking up cold and isolated, to the video that almost ended with her beheading…

"You're a pig."

 _"Igualmente,"_ he snarled, which she knew meant 'likewise.'

Reagan shook her head. "What would Mom think of you? After _everything_ she did for us."

"She's dead, so what does it matter?"

" _Familia_ , Tommy. Apparently that means nothing to you anymore."

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "These guys are my family now. They take care of me."

Reagan laughed. "Really? I've known you your whole life. I can see it in your eyes, little brother."

"See what?" he asked with another sneer.

"Fear."

* * *

Deacon couldn't believe what Luca had just said. "How can you possibly know all that? You didn't give me much to go on earlier..."

Luca pointed at the computer screen. "The video. They gave themselves away."

Hope bloomed within his chest. "Tell me everything you know."

Luca smiled and Deacon knew that look all too well; it meant he was excited to get down to business. "Hondo, roll it back."

Deacon wasn't thrilled to watch that damn video again, but if it brought them closer to helping Reagan, he'd do anything.

"This tat," Luca said, indicating a marking on the lead gang member's forearm. He swiped his fingers to zoom in and the grainy image refocused to show the number thirteen. "It stands for 'the M,' because M is the thirteenth letter of the alphabet."

"The Mexican Mafia," Deacon said knowingly.

"Exactly, and this guy has another giveaway." Luca moved the image so that it stayed zoomed in, but now on the assailant's hand.

Street squinted and leaned in closer. "He's missing a finger."

"Bingo," Luca said, opening a separate window on the computer. He typed in the name Carlito Lopez and a rap sheet popped up, showcasing an angry mugshot. "I put this guy away during my first week as a traffic cop. While in holding, he got into a fight with a rival gang member. Got shanked pretty good and lost his finger trying to defend himself, but repaid the other guy by gouging out his eye. It was a fucking nasty mess so I've never forgotten it."

While they all cringed, Chris read over the rap sheet. "Then I think we have a problem," she said, and locked eyes with Deacon.

"What?" he asked, his anxiety ratcheting up a notch.

"He's suspected of killing two cops within the past year." She paused, letting that sink in. "They were found with their heads cut off..."

Deacon couldn't breathe. He just stared, jaw clenching and unclenching.

Finally, he sucked in a lungful of air.

Their timetable had suddenly moved up.

He directed his attention back to Luca. "You said you know where she is?"

"Yeah," the other man said quickly, switching screens again so they were back on the video. "This piece of machinery in the background—it's an old-time loom. My mom worked in a factory in the 70s that used these big machines. They're pretty unique so they tend to stand out, or at least to me they do."

Chris added, "Lopez's record says that a lot of the gang resides in Pico Rivera."

"So we need to figure out which buildings used to be a textile factory," Hondo said, taking over at the computer. He brought up a map of San Marcos and the surrounding area. He put in their search parameters. Then they waited for the results.

* * *

Reagan wished someone would get her a pair of pants, or a blanket. _Something._ Her ass had gone numb a long time ago from where she sat on the cold cement, but the shivers were getting out of control. The contortion of her arms didn't help either. She could feel that her wrists had been rubbed raw from her restless movements.

Tommy had locked her back in the closet after she'd called his bluff. He didn't seem to appreciate her perspective, but he also hadn't denied it. She still couldn't believe he'd willingly put her in this position, but then again, their relationship had been non-existent in the past decade. He probably did see these savages as his ' _hermanos_.' Though, a true brother would never ask their sibling to put a loved one in danger just so they could earn a spot in the 'family.' Maybe he didn't consider her a loved one anymore...

Pushing that depressing thought aside, Reagan thought of Deacon. What was he doing right now? Had he watched the video? Probably. She knew their romantic affair had put them directly into the position he'd feared. Of course, he would have pulled out all the stops to help any one of his team members, but if they were in opposite places right now, she would be having panic attack after panic attack while knocking down every door in LA.

Reagan wished she could perform mental telepathy. She wanted to tell Deacon she was okay—for now—and that she knew he'd be coming soon. She had no doubts about that.

In the next room a cell phone rang. She leaned her ear toward the crack at the bottom of the door and listened to the garbled voice. Then she heard, "Get the cop."

* * *

Deacon got into position across the street from the abandoned textile factory, his team at his back. Mumford's team was lining up behind the building—he couldn't see them—but he knew the other sergeant would soon give the go-ahead through their earpieces.

Back at HQ, Deacon had grabbed Luca and given him a big, smacking kiss on the top of his head, thanking him for having a wealth of random knowledge that would (hopefully) bring Reagan to safety. He couldn't believe how quickly they had turned this one around. Hicks had been a little reluctant to sign off on it in such a short amount of time, but the commander couldn't argue with Luca's assessment, especially when Cortez's info on Miguel Rodriguez had backed it up.

" _Team two in position,"_ Mumford said.

"Roger that," Deacon replied. "Both teams, move in."

He took point, leading his team toward the front entrance. He kept his head on a swivel, but there didn't appear to be anyone guarding the place, which he thought was odd. They reached the plain metal door and Deacon silently motioned Street forward. Street turned the knob and then pushed it open, stepping aside to let the team move in ahead of him before taking a spot at the rear.

Deacon's rifle light illuminated the shadowy space as he swept it back and forth. They reached a doorway and he paused, waiting for Luca to tap him on the shoulder. He turned a corner and cleared a small closet. Hondo moved to the front and they progressed to the next room, where a strip of overhead fluorescent lights cast a harsh brightness over the large workspace. The room held various pieces of machinery, which Deacon now knew to be looms.

What caught their attention, though, was the camera set-up straight ahead. Automatically, they knew they were in the right place—but where was Reagan?

That sinking feeling deepened when Mumford and his team entered the room from the back and shook their heads.

"Where the hell is she?" Street asked, voicing the question for everyone.

"Maybe they moved her after they made the video..." Mumford suggested, but even he sounded doubtful.

"Uh, boss, we've got something over here," Chris said from the other side of the room.

Deacon didn't like her tone; it meant he was walking toward something bad. He came around one of the old machines and stopped in his tracks.

A significant puddle of blood stained the dirty floor, with smears and a single handprint leading toward a side door he hadn't noticed before. The smears turned to drips right before the threshold, like the injured person had regained their footing enough to get outside.

Mumford joined them, along with the rest of both teams, and then promptly went out through the side door.

Deacon wanted to help investigate, but was fixated on the bloody handprint. He pushed his rifle out of the way so that it hung at his side, and kneeled.

"It's small," Street said from behind, startling him.

Deacon glanced up and they locked eyes.

 _Too small to be a man's._ The words went unspoken between them.

 _"Deke, we've got a body out here,"_ Mumford said through their earpieces.

All of the air was expelled from Deacon's lungs. He saw the same expression of terror on Street's face.

He pushed up and followed his team outside, praying with every ounce of his soul that he wasn't about to encounter Reagan's lifeless body.

Street made it there first and stopped. He looked back at Deacon.

"It's not her."

Deacon released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

He walked closer and stared down at the body of a middle-aged Hispanic male. A neat hole in the man's forehead instantly told Deacon he'd been shot.

Before anyone could say anything, Deacon's cell phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and the caller ID said 'RESTRICTED.'

With his heart pounding, he answered, "Hello?"

 _"Sergeant Kay, has your commander met my requests? Because you're running out of time."_

"How'd you get this number?" he asked, speaking low.

 _"Officer Cassidy gave it to me."_

"Where is she? Before I do anything for you, I want proof of life."

He heard Lopez sigh, assuming that was who he was talking to.

 _"David…"_ Reagan said, her voice strong. Maybe she wasn't hurt, but the use of his first name made him think otherwise.

"Reagan! Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"

 _"I'm sorry,"_ she whispered.

"It's okay, we'll get you back—"

 _"You have your proof of life,"_ Lopez said, cutting him off. _"And you have one hour. I want that plane and my lieutenant. No cops, no tricks. Get it done."_

The line went dead.

"Did you talk to Cassie? Is she okay?" Luca asked, beating everyone to the punch.

Deacon looked at his phone and then to the group of people waiting for answers. He nodded, but the movement was slow, as the wheels in his head were spinning.

"So what do we need to do?" Street asked now, his gaze searching.

Deacon glanced around, tucked the phone in his pocket, and sighed.

"We need to break Miguel Rodriguez out of jail."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thank you to my amazing reviewers: Super Gran, canadice, and WishfulThinker66! And to all my new follows and faves: Welcome! :)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The closet door opened and Tommy stood on the other side, his mask long gone, which, to Reagan, could be equally good or bad. Either they weren't going to make another video, or possibly time was up and they were going to make the trade. But to let her see their faces? That never landed in the realm of good news.

Tommy helped her up and she winced at the jostling movement. She'd lost feeling in her hands, but could've sworn they were wet. She had a hunch the plastic zip-tie had finally cut into her skin. But his face remained impassive as he nudged her forward.

"Tommy, please. It's not too late. Don't do this. I know my little brother is still in there, and he would never hurt his sister," she said quietly.

He gave her a small shove. "Stop. Talking."

Reagan shook her head. "I heard you before. You told them to be careful. Why would you do that if you didn't still care?"

"It's too late, sis," he murmured, his expression hard.

"No, Tommy, it's never too late."

They walked across the warehouse, passing old machinery that made her realize it was more of a factory than a warehouse. She still couldn't figure out where they were, though, and in a moment it probably wouldn't matter.

Two men stood by an exit door, also without masks now. One was tall and skinny; the other had dark, hateful eyes and the scowl to match. She would've pegged him as the leader from before.

"Carlito, where's González?" Tommy asked as they approached.

The man with the mean face said, "He's waiting in the car."

"So what are we standing around for? Let's go make the trade."

The man smirked. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you, Thomas?"

Reagan thought she felt Tommy's hand tense on her shoulder.

"What are you talking about?" her brother asked.

Carlito, who she could now confirm was the leader, didn't say anything. Instead, he took something out of his pocket and pointed it toward Reagan.

Now, she was the tense one.

"Officer Cassidy, who is in charge of your SWAT team? What is his first name?" He pressed a button on the device in his hand.

Reagan paused as she thought it through. She didn't want Deacon involved in this, but knew he would be anyway. Maybe this would help the exchange…

"David," she said, trying to keep her voice strong and clear. She did not want to show these guys weakness, or at least not any more than she already had.

Carlito pressed a button again. "If you could say one thing to him right now, what would it be?"

Reagan stared at the man as her courage evaporated. "I- I'd say…" He pushed another button and she frowned. Softly, she said, "I'm sorry."

He clicked the device a final time and slipped it into his pocket. "One more thing. What is his phone number?"

Reluctantly, she gave it to him. If Carlito did call, hopefully Deacon would be able to trace it.

"Thank you, Officer Cassidy. We're finished here." He looked at Tommy. "You know what you need to do."

"No, I don't."

"We no longer need her—"

"I'm not gonna kill her, Carlito. She's my sister."

Carlito's lips pressed together and he took a step forward. "You said you wanted in. This is what it takes to be one of La Eme. Dispose of the cop, or you're both gone."

Tommy stared at the man, his eyes wide with panic.

Carlito removed a knife from his pocket and flipped the serrated blade out of the handle. When he started to move toward Reagan, Tommy stepped in front of her. "Okay, I'll do it."

The leader directed his attention back to Tommy. "Are you sure you can handle that, _hermano_? Because I'm not convinced that you have what it takes."

Tommy nodded. "I can do it."

Reagan's mouth dropped open and her eyes darted back and forth between the two men. "Tommy, think about this. We're family. I _love_ you. I _always_ have."

Tommy glanced over at her, apprehension flashing in his brown eyes. Carlito must have seen her brother's sudden hesitation, because he advanced on Reagan. She only saw the flash of silver before experiencing the worst pain in her life. It was instant, white-hot at her core. It felt as if someone had torn into her stomach with their bare hand. To make matters worse, she didn't have use of her hands, so when he pulled the blade from her abdomen, it allowed the wound to bleed freely. Warmth trickled down one of her bare thighs as she fell to her knees, and she felt the same sensation on her cheeks as tears escaped from her closed eyes.

 _"Estúpido policía puta,"_ Carlito muttered, and spat on the ground in front of her. He turned to Tommy. "Now you can put her out of her misery."

* * *

"You want to do _what_?" Mumford asked, regarding Deacon with a stunned gaze.

"We need Rodriguez. It's the only way to get Officer Cassidy back alive. If we don't, she's sure as dead."

"Deke, you can't just break someone out of jail," Mumford continued. "We have protocol for this type of thing."

Deacon shook his head. "Hicks will never sign off on it. And I'm not going to let some red tape get my officer killed. Not on my watch."

Mumford looked around at his team. The other men wouldn't meet his eyes. He sighed. "We can't take part in this. I'm sorry about Cassie, I really am, but what you're saying is crazy. It's not SWAT."

Deacon remained silent as anger rolled off of him in waves.

"But we won't stop you," Mumford said. "I won't tell Hicks. We can do that much. Okay?" he asked his team. The officers nodded and headed back to their SWAT truck.

"Thanks," Deacon said, his voice tight. "I guess I'll take what I can get."

When Mumford followed after his men, Street stepped up. "I'll do it."

At that, Chris stood next to him. "Me, too." They exchanged a subtle smile.

"Whatever we've gotta do, Deke. Count me in," Luca said, getting that predictable energetic smile on his face.

They all looked to Hondo. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. "You know we could be kicked off SWAT for this? Probably the force, too…if they don't throw us in jail with Rodriguez."

"We know," Street said, completely serious now.

Hondo shrugged. "Well if you're sharin' a cell block, y'all are gonna need a brotha to help you out." When they all chuckled, he said, "I'm in."

Deacon glanced at each of them, his expression sincere. "I really appreciate you all doing this. I know Cassie will, too."

"No officer left behind, right?" Luca asked.

Deacon nodded.

"So how're we gonna do this, boss?" Chris asked. "We don't even have a full team."

He took a deep breath and pulled out his cell phone once more. Tapping a contact on the screen, he said, "I think we can fix that." He put the phone on speaker and they waited while it rang.

Finally, a man answered with, "Deke! What's up?"

"Hey, Tan. What're you doing right now?"

* * *

Luca stopped Black Betty at the entrance to the California State Prison. Rolling down the window, Deacon leaned over and said to the guard, "Hi, there. I'm Sergeant David Kay. We're here for a prisoner transport."

The guard skimmed the papers on his desk. "I don't see anything about a transport today. Who authorized it?"

"Commander Hicks at LAPD." Deacon reached into his vest pocket and removed the letter he'd forged with Hicks' signature. It was the one part of the plan that he insisted on doing himself. That one detail would land him in the hottest water, and he wanted his team to have no fault in it. He handed it to Luca, who handed it to the guard.

The man opened it and quickly scanned the fine print. "If you say so," he murmured, and pressed the button to open the gate. "Your prisoner is in Cell Block A, so park to the left side and we'll meet you for the exchange."

"Thanks," Deacon replied, keeping his tone light and friendly.

Luca maneuvered their truck to the spot the guard had indicated and put it into park.

Deacon looked over his shoulder at the four people in the back: Hondo, Chris, Street and Tan. "You guys ready?"

After a resounding 'hell yeah,' Tan smiled and said, "Beats watching reruns of _Dr. Quinn_. Don't get me wrong—it's nice to spend time with my mom—but it's also nice to have a night off."

Deacon smirked. "You call this a night off?"

"Springing a prisoner out of jail to make an exchange that will take down a dangerous gang, while also helping a fellow SWAT officer? I would've been insulted if you guys hadn't called me."

"Well we've missed you," Street said.

Hondo let out a bark of laughter. "You're such a liar." When Tan glanced at him in confusion, he added, "Street's sweet on the new girl."

Tan looked to where Street was seated across from him. "Why am I not surprised?"

"She is nicer to look at!"

Tan kicked his boot, but before Street could retaliate, Deacon said, "We have incoming. Hondo and Chris, you're on deck."

A moment later, someone knocked on the back of the truck. Hondo and Chris each opened a door and stepped out, taking an elbow on either side of Miguel Rodriguez. The man had on a standard orange jumpsuit, and shackles that connected to his wrists and ankles. He was a big dude, but didn't put up a fight. He must have known about the arrangement his 'buddies' had made on the outside.

Once the doors were securely closed, Deacon got out and met the guard holding a clipboard.

"Signature here and here to sign him out," the man said, pointing to two spots on the page.

Deacon tried not to sigh audibly. This was the part that would tie him to the whole thing. He would be amazed if he had a job after this. Even mall security might be out of range, and how embarrassing would that be?

As long as Reagan came out of this alive, he didn't care what happened to him.

After Deacon had climbed back in and took his seat, he looked over at Luca, who was waiting for his signal. He nodded. "Let's go. We have a plane to catch."

Luca slapped the wheel and said, "Alright, Cassie, here we come."


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: As always, thank you to my reviewers: Super Gran, canadice, SpnSwtHrt, and WishfulThinker66! Since we don't get an episode this week, I thought I would post a new chapter. For those of you who celebrate it, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving.**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Carlito walked toward the exit and said in passing to the man by the door, "Marcus, keep watch outside until it's done and help him get rid of the body. Then take the other car and meet us at the airfield."

"You got it," Marcus said, stepping out after him and leaving Tommy alone with Reagan.

Tommy approached Reagan and unsheathed the knife on his belt. She saw his feet and glanced up, her vision growing black at the edges.

"Please…Tommy…don't do this…"

He didn't answer and walked around to stand behind her.

She waited for it to come—the stab in the back. In her mind, it was the ultimate betrayal. If he was going to kill her, she wanted him to look her in the face when he did it.

But it didn't happen.

Reagan felt tension in the zip-tie, tugging, and then her arms were free. The tingling ache was incredible, but nothing compared to the throbbing gash in her middle. She immediately pressed her hands to her stomach. Looking down, she saw something sticking out of the ragged wound. Knowing that it was probably a part of her that was supposed to be on the inside, she gritted her teeth and pushed it back in. She cried out anyway and her head felt light.

"Tommy…" she whimpered, taking shallow breaths.

"Come on, sis. Let's get you out of here."

He scooped his hands underneath her elbows. When she tried to stand, her knee slipped in the puddle of blood beneath her and she put out a hand to stop herself from falling. He grabbed her more tightly this time and hauled her upright. She grunted in pain, but stayed with him as he opened the door to the outside.

Marcus turned around at the sound of the squeaking door. Seeing that Reagan was still alive, he said, "What the hell, man?"

Tommy walked past him, supporting most of Reagan's weight as she teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. "I want to do it at the dump site—less mess to clean up."

Marcus followed, arguing in Spanish with every breath. Without warning, Tommy pulled out the piece tucked into his waistband. He fired a single shot into Marcus's forehead.

Reagan barely flinched. She was so used to hearing gunfire, and so out of her head right now, that it almost didn't register. And then she fell, landing sideways onto something soft. The action jarred her wound and she let out a weak shout.

" _Lo siento_ , sis," Tommy said. "I'm sorry."

He pushed on her feet and she realized he was trying to close a car door. She pulled up her knees, assuming the fetal position while still trying to stop the bleeding, which didn't seem to be working. Her eyesight wavered as her breathing slowed.

The car started and began to move at a fast pace. She could just barely hear Tommy cursing, then, "I'm sorry, Reagan. I'm gonna make this right. I gotta leave, though. It's not safe for me. They're gonna kill me…"

She wanted to tell him not to worry, that she'd help him, but everything went black.

* * *

At the center of the private airfield, Deacon waited outside the open passenger door of Black Betty. He looked across at Street on the opposite side and he knew Hondo had assumed position in the roof hatch. He glanced at the service buildings that flanked the airstrip, knowing their snipers were getting set up.

"Sierra one, status report," he said.

 _"Sierra one is in position and ready,"_ Tan replied through the earpiece, having taken his spot on the left building's roof.

"Sierra two?" Deacon asked.

 _"Roger that. Sierra two is ready,"_ Chris said from her perch on the right.

Deacon glanced at his watch, which he wore military-style on the inside of his wrist. It was go time.

"Heads up, everyone. Lopez should be here any minute now," he announced.

A small plane rolled out of the hanger just beyond Chris's location. It turned and came to a stop in the middle of the airstrip. Luca got out, leaving their prison inmate in the back. A moment later, a black Monte Carlo came into view and parked by the plane.

"He's here," Deacon said. "Wait for visual confirmation. When you see Cassie's out of harm's way, take them out."

He held his breath as both of the car doors opened.

 _This has to work…_

He thought his eyes deceived him when two white men got out of the car, but they were quickly followed by two Hispanics from the backseat. He recognized the one on the left as Carlito Lopez.

"What is this?" Deacon hollered.

Lopez glanced over, keeping one of the men close to his front like a shield. "My insurance policy! These pilots will be taking us where we want to go."

"We already had two waiting for you!" Deacon answered, not exactly lying. He had two pilots on standby, but they were undercover cops and buddies of his.

"Thanks, but I'd rather choose my own!" Lopez and his partner, along with their human shields, started to shift toward the plane. He pointed his handgun at Luca, who stood nearby. "Where's my lieutenant?"

Keeping his empty hands in plain view, as not to escalate the situation, Luca answered, "He's in the plane."

Lopez nodded. _"Si, bueno."_

"Where's my officer?" Deacon yelled back, his blood pressure spiking. He looked at the Monte Carlo, but there didn't appear to be anyone else inside. Maybe she was in the trunk? He had a bad feeling. Something wasn't right…

Lopez smiled and said something to Luca. The other man stared back, his face turning pale in the spotlight from Black Betty.

Deacon's gut clenched.

 _"What's going on, boss?"_ Chris asked.

"I don't know, but if they get any closer to that plane take the shot."

"Where's Cassie?" Street asked Deacon from across the open cab, his voice urgent.

Before he could answer, Lopez and the other suspect made their move, keeping the pilots right in front so that they could climb into the plane without risk.

Deacon could feel the entire plan unraveling. "Chris, Tan, take them out!"

But the shots didn't come.

 _"He's blocked! I can't get a clean shot without hitting the hostage!"_ Chris replied.

 _"Same here. He's got that pilot on him like a second skin,"_ Tan added.

Deacon's fear rose up like a sickness from the bottom of his stomach. Acid burned the back of his throat as he grasped for a way to control the situation, but it was slipping out of his hands.

And just like that, the doors of the plane closed and the engine started.

Hondo said from his position, "What do you want us to do here, boss?"

"Do you want us to shoot at the plane?" Street asked.

"That thing is topped off, Deke," Luca said. "If we fire at it, it'll blow."

"We can't add collateral damage to this!" Deacon replied, then sighed. "So hold your fire."

Reluctantly, they all watched the plane taxi and take off, leaving them in shocked silence.

"We are so fucked," Street muttered, and slammed the door that had been providing him cover. "We should've rushed 'em!"

"They would've shot the hostages," Hondo said, coming down from his spot inside Black Betty. He exited next to Deacon and they exchanged a worried glance.

Up ahead, Luca sat on the tarmac, head in his hands.

Street jogged over to the Monte Carlo as Deacon and Hondo approached their man on the ground. Carefully, Street popped the trunk. Deacon watched, hoping, until Street shut it and shook his head.

"It's empty."

Deacon tucked his chin to his chest and willed himself to keep it together. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked at Luca's hunched form.

"What'd Lopez say to you? Did he tell you where Cassie is?"

Luca raised his head. Tears glistened in his blue eyes and the sight knocked away Deacon's last shred of hope. He couldn't breathe as he waited for Luca's response.

"He said…" The words ground out, like every one of them pained Luca. _"_ _Envié ese cerdo a la matanza."_

"What does that mean?" Deacon asked, suffocating with panic.

Luca gestured with one of his hands, the movement weak. "It means… 'I sent that pig to slaughter.'"

* * *

Deacon sat in the front of Black Betty as Luca drove them all back to HQ. He forced himself to breathe in deeply, counting until it was time to exhale. Anxiety over the entire miserable situation made his heart race in his chest. He'd lost the suspects and the inmate they'd broken out of jail, which meant he was probably going to lose his job— _all_ of them could lose their jobs. But worst of all, he'd lost Reagan. According to Lopez, she was on her way to die, if not already dead.

He'd failed.

He'd failed his team, his city, his reputation, and he'd failed Reagan.

He couldn't feel any lower than he did at that moment.

When they got back to HQ, Hondo didn't waste any time jumping onto their high-tech computer station.

"Okay, we need to get a visual on where they took her. Did anyone see cameras on the outside of the warehouse?"

Everybody said some variation of no.

"What about traffic cams in that area? Maybe we could pick up the Monte Carlo and find out where they went," Chris suggested.

"But weren't there at least three guys?" Street asked. "Only two took off in the plane. I mean, we did find that dead guy in the alleyway…"

"So you think someone took her in a different car?"

"It's possible," said Street. "But how would we know what to look for?"

Deacon zoned out, agreeing with Street's assessment. How could they find a mystery car in an area with ten million people? It was truly a needle in a haystack. He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out his small cross pendant, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

 _Lord, please help us find her. If she's still alive, give her the strength to carry on. Don't let her be afraid... And if she's gone, help us bring her home._ He paused. _Please, I need a sign. Something…_

Long after 'Amen,' Deacon stood quiet as his team continued to search. It felt like his heart was stuck in his throat. No matter how hard he tried to clear away the lump, it stayed lodged in place.

Suddenly, his cell phone vibrated. Looking at the screen, he saw that it was a local number, but not saved as a contact.

"Hello?"

 _"Hi, Sergeant David Kay?"_ a woman asked.

"Yes, speaking."

 _"This is Officer Jackie Morse. We had a Jane Doe down here at Beverly Hospital. Her fingerprints came back as Officer Reagan Cassidy. She has no next of kin, but you're listed as her supervisor."_

"Wait…" He stopped to catch his breath. "She's…she's dead?"

 _"No! Oh, my god, no! I'm sorry. I probably made it sound that way."_

Deacon finally exhaled, the sound strangled with relief.

 _"No, she's alive—in rough shape—but alive."_

"What happened?"

 _"Someone left her outside the emergency entrance and took off. She was unconscious when the nurses found her. She didn't have any identification, so we had to run her prints."_

"You said she was injured?"

 _"Yeah—a nasty stab wound in her abdomen. She's in surgery now, but I thought you should know what was going on."_

"Yes, thank you! Thank you so much. We'll be right there."

He hung up and looked at his team, who had been blatantly eavesdropping.

"She's alive?" Street asked.

Deacon smiled, the action almost foreign at this point. "Yeah, someone left her at Beverly Hospital. She's in surgery, but alive."

Everyone expressed their excitement, hugging and taking a moment to savor the relief.

Deacon touched his necklace once more, sending a thank you skyward.

"Let's go!" Chris said, and headed for the exit.

But Commander Hicks was there, blocking the way.

They all stopped in place, their smiles gone in an instant.

"I overheard the good news." Even as Hicks said it, he didn't look very happy. "You can go and check on your teammate—except, Deacon. I need you to come with me."


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thank you to my reviewers canadice, Super Gran, and WishfulThinker66! Your feedback is the highlight of my day!**

 **Ironically, the song "Back to You" started playing while I worked on the last part of this chapter...**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Reagan awoke and let her gaze wander throughout the dimly lit room. It wasn't familiar, which led her to panic for a moment, but the soft bed and beeping machines told her she was in a safe place—a hospital to be exact. She registered a warm weight on her right hand and looked down to see a very tan, weathered hand atop her own. She adjusted her grip and squeezed the hand, causing Luca to open his bleary eyes from where he'd been sleeping in the chair next to her.

"Hey!" he said quietly, his face lit with pure happiness.

Reagan knew the feeling.

"You're okay," she said, smiling with relief. She touched the bandage on his forehead. "They knocked you pretty good..."

He tipped up his chin. "They got you, too. We're twins."

Reagan reached up with her opposite hand and felt the gauze above her brow. "I'd prefer to be twinning with you by, like, wearing the same shirt or something."

He laughed. "So true."

She moved her hand to rest on the spot where her stomach suffered an incredibly deep ache. "I don't really remember what happened after..."

"You were left on the doorstep of the ER. The surgeons had to remove some of your large intestine—it was all frigged up in there—but you should be all right."

She smirked, the action slow from her lingering grogginess. "Your bedside manner could use some work."

"I'm SWAT, not a doctor."

Reagan laughed, but sucked in a breath at the sharp pain it caused in her gut.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It reminds me that I'm still alive." She glanced around. "Where is everybody?"

"They're in the waiting room—have been for hours. Is it okay if I bring them in?"

"Of course!"

Luca jumped up and jogged out into the quiet corridor. He returned a minute later, Chris, Hondo and Street directly behind him. They circled around the bed as she continued to stare at the doorway. She hated to act unappreciative of their presence, but her confusion couldn't be stopped. Their expressions fell when they realized who she was looking for.

"Where's Deacon?" she asked, directing the question at Chris. The other woman knew why she cared so much.

When Chris hesitated, Street said, "He's tied up at HQ. I know he wanted to be here, but Hicks needed him there."

Disappointment weighed heavily in her chest. She tried not to show it, though. Deacon had a job to do and his personal feelings would have to wait, as much as she hated it.

"How're you feeling?" Chris asked.

"Like I've been stabbed." They cracked a smile. "But all things considered, it could be worse."

"We thought for sure you were dead," Luca said.

"Oh, come on, where's the faith?"

"Nah, it's not like that. Lopez—the guy who took you—basically told me you were."

She nodded. "He was the one who did this to me."

Hondo spoke up. "On the hospital's surveillance video, we saw a man leave you outside the emergency room. Obviously it wasn't Lopez..."

Reagan reflected for a few seconds, recalling what had happened before she lost consciousness. Then, she said, "That was my brother."

"Your _brother_?" Street asked. "Did you call him or something?"

She shook her head. "Didn't have to. He was one of the guys who took me."

Shocked expressions were traded amongst her visitors.

"That sounds like a long story," Hondo said.

"Yeah, it is."

"Well you don't need to tell us right now. An officer will want to take your statement at some point, but tonight you need to rest."

"Speaking of rest," she said, looking around the room. "You guys look like shit. You should get some, too."

They all laughed, and Hondo said, "Yes, ma'am."

They each gave her hugs and well wishes. No sooner than they had stepped into the hallway, she was asleep.

* * *

Hicks led Deacon into his office. The commander shut the door as Deacon stood, hands behind his back, bracing for the shitstorm headed his way. He would take his punishment no matter how it came. It wasn't like he had much of a choice, but he could either go down swinging, or take it on the chin. Based on his well-standing reputation before this, he preferred the latter.

Hicks walked around his desk, but didn't sit. He paced for a second and then faced Deacon.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He held up a hand. "I mean, _clearly_ you weren't."

When Deacon didn't reply, he continued on.

"Come on, Deke! You're supposed to be one of the good ones! _Never_ in a million years would I have predicted you would do something so stupid."

Deacon held Hicks' furious gaze, but remained quiet.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself? You broke protocol! You've never done that before now! I want answers…"

Finally, Deacon said in the most level voice he could manage, "My team member's life was at risk. I did what I felt I needed to do to get her back. I take full responsibility. My team only acted under my orders."

Hicks scoffed. "Well that's a bunch of bullshit. I'm sure they went right along with you, but I can't prove otherwise." He paused. "SWAT stands for special weapons and tactics. Where were your tactics out there? You and I both know there were much better ways you could have handled this. But you went and lost our suspects _and_ a convicted criminal! Pretty sure we're supposed to put the bad guys _in_ jail; not take them out!"

Deacon nodded.

"You've really forced my hand here, Deke." Hicks sighed. "Until further notice, you are suspended without pay while we evaluate your case and consider a termination. Your team, minus Officer Cassidy, will be suspended for thirty days. You will go directly home, where an officer will monitor you until a decision is made as to whether or not we will be pressing charges. I'd put you in a cell—but a decorated SWAT sergeant in prison? You'd be a dead man."

Deacon wasn't surprised by his punishment, but had hoped they would at least let him see Reagan for a few minutes. He knew she was alive, though. That was enough for him and made it all worth it.

"So you don't have anything else to say?" Hicks asked.

"I thought I could get Officer Cassidy back safely, and get our suspects by using Rodriguez as a ploy. I made a risky choice and abused my position, and for that I'm sorry. I'm sorry to you and this department. My job is to keep our citizens safe, and today I failed. I deserve the punishment you've chosen for me."

Hicks sighed, his anger appearing to vanish as his shoulders dropped. "See, that kind of attitude is what makes this so difficult…"

They exchanged a look of mutual understanding and, for a moment, Deacon had the faintest hope that this might work out after all.

Hicks picked up the phone receiver on his desk and dialed an extension. "This is Commander Hicks. I need a black-and-white to escort an officer home."

* * *

Sometime later, Reagan opened her eyes after a long, fitful sleep. She had dreamt about Deacon and wondered why he was taking so long. She felt a comforting hand touch her shoulder and turned her head to see who it was.

Street stared back, worry etched between his dark brows. His beautiful eyes raked over her tired face as he stroked her bicep.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

His concern broke her heart.

Here she was, looking at this amazing man—and wishing he was someone else.

She hated herself for it.

Hot moisture pricked her eyes, escaping from the corners. He caught a drop on the pad of his thumb as he swiped it away. "Hey, you're safe now. They can't hurt you anymore."

He had misinterpreted her reason for being upset, but it didn't mean that that still wasn't a factor. She felt rundown physically and emotionally. Her whole ordeal, from Tommy's involvement in her capture, to Lopez practically gutting her, she just needed a release—some kind of comfort.

Reagan couldn't stop the flood of tears once they started. A sob ripped from her throat, catching her off guard. She tried to cover her face in embarrassment.

"It's okay, Cas. Don't feel bad. Just let it out," he said, moving to sit on the hospital bed. He reached for her and she allowed him to swallow her in his embrace. She buried her face in his chest. The warm t-shirt there was soft and smelled like his musky body wash. He rubbed her back while she cried herself dry.

When Street dropped a kiss on top of Reagan's hair, she pulled away, furiously wiping at the wetness on her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You have nothing to apologize about. I may not be the best at handling tears, but there is nowhere else I would rather be right now, than right here with you."

Reagan couldn't look at him and his tender eyes anymore. He just didn't understand, and she didn't want to hurt him. But he had to hear the truth.

"Jim…"

"Oh no, you used my first name again." He chuckled.

"This is serious. I… I have feelings for someone else."

There it was. Out in the open.

Street looked unfazed.

"Deacon, right?"

Her eyes widened. "How did you know? Did Chris tell you?"

"No, I just knew—and I talked to Deacon about it."

Reagan felt her worry melt away and she took a deep breath.

Then, he asked, "Wait, Chris knew?"

Reagan smiled. "Girls talk. And, apparently, so do guys."

He returned the smile and they both fell silent.

"So, you're okay with it? The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you," she said.

His trademark dimples appeared and he raised his brows, replying, "A little bit of rejection might do me good. I mean, that silver fox look is all the rage right now. How can I compete with that?"

She smacked his shoulder. "Oh shush. You know how pretty you are. You can have any woman you want."

His gaze bore into her own as he said, "Yeah. All but one."

Reagan tilted her head and looked at him with dejection. "Please don't say that."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I can't help how I feel, any more than you can. I promise I won't interfere. I just need some time. Really, I'm happy for you two."

She smiled sadly and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Pulling back, she said, "Someday, you're going to have a very happy Mrs. Street."

He seemed to appreciate the sentiment, and when the moment had passed, she finally worked up the courage to say, "I know that earlier you were lying about Deacon. Otherwise, he would've been here by now. Where is he really?"


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! Here is my gift to you...**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Deacon walked across his kitchen and opened the front door of his apartment. He wondered why the officer posted outside would be knocking, but he appreciated the respect of privacy nonetheless. Being under house arrest didn't afford him much of that.

When he opened the door, Chris pushed her way in. He glanced at the officer nearby and the man shrugged.

"I told her you're not supposed to have visitors, but she insisted."

Deacon smirked. "You get used to it. But feel free to call Commander Hicks if you want."

The officer shook his head. "I don't want to get in trouble because she couldn't take no for an answer. Keep it under 30 minutes, okay?"

Deacon agreed and closed the door.

"You got anything to drink?" Chris asked.

"I was about to make some coffee."

Chris nodded her approval and took a seat on the living room couch.

"I'm assuming you heard about your suspension," he said.

"Yeah, I could use the vacation time," she quipped. He appreciated her being so relaxed about such a serious matter.

While the coffee started to brew, Deacon walked in and sat down in the easy chair across from her. "I need to know. How's she doing? Nobody will tell me anything."

"That's why I'm here."

Deacon's stomach flipped. "Did something happen?"

"No, she's doing good." At his look of relief, she said, "I came here to tell you that. She's been asking about you."

"What'd you tell her?"

"Not much. Mostly she's been sleeping, so we've only told her you were tied up at HQ."

"Not completely a lie…"

"Nope. Hopefully we can keep it that way for now. She's in rough shape. She needs to rest."

Another wave of longing surged over him. "What happened anyway?"

Chris told him everything that was in the police statement, from Lopez stabbing Reagan, to Reagan's brother saving her after being the one to capture her as an act of gang initiation.

Deacon leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. He pressed his hands to his mouth, as if in prayer. He closed his eyes, trying to push away the image of her broken and bloody body lying on the emergency room curb. It could have been a lot worse though. Right then she could have been buried in a shallow, unmarked grave, like so many unfortunate gang victims before her.

"I— _we_ almost lost her yesterday…" he murmured, fighting to hold back the emotion of it all.

"Does she know?" Chris asked.

He frowned. "Know what?"

"That you love her?"

Deacon's brow rose and he dropped his hands. "How…?"

"I just know," Chris said with a slight smile. "I've seen the way you look at her. And I know she feels the same way."

The coffeemaker beeped and Deacon got up to fill two mugs. He was still lost in his own thoughts, shocked by the realization that, in this short amount of time, he had fallen in love with Reagan.

When he sat down, Chris got out her phone. "Do you want to call her? I can shoot Street a text and he'll make sure she gets the call."

"Why would you tell Street?"

"Because he's with her right now."

The sudden stab of jealousy reminded him of when Reagan sat in the same place after Street was injured. But, like before, he had to remember that sitting next to someone in the hospital wasn't meant to be scandalous. Street was being a good friend, and Deacon appreciated it since he couldn't be there with her.

"Yeah, I would really like that," he said finally.

Chris sent a text and waited for Street's reply. When it came though, she dialed the number and handed Deacon her cell phone.

* * *

Reagan stared at Street, but wasn't really seeing him. He simply sat and waited for her to process it all.

"So...you're telling me," she began, "that Deacon put his whole career on the line?"

"To save you, yes."

"I need to talk to Hicks."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

Street sighed. "It's complicated, and you know why. If Hicks found out about you two, it would make everything so much worse for Deacon. Just let the whole thing run its course. I suspect it will blow over soon and he'll be back at the precinct in no time."

"But not in charge, right?"

"I didn't say that."

"Exactly. You didn't. You think he's going to lose his position as team leader."

Street sighed again, but this time it sounded strangled.

"I want to talk to Commander Hicks," she said again before he could reply. "Where's my phone?"

"I think it's still back at your house."

Remembering her house and what had transpired the day before, she shot up in bed and cringed when it pulled her stitches. "June! I forgot about June! She's probably so worried—"

Street reached out and touched Reagan's arm. "Luca talked to her. She was worried but he told her you're going to be okay."

"What's today?" she asked suddenly.

"Sunday."

"Crap. Luca was supposed to help her move stuff. And we were going to play softball yesterday!"

Street let out a short laugh. "Well we were all a little busy. But you'll be happy to know that he's over there right now."

Reagan smiled and then rubbed a hand over her face. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything. If I hadn't been taken, if I had been a better sister, if—"

"Okay stop," Street said. "None of this is your fault so stop wondering if you could've prevented it."

His cell phone tinged and he sat back to remove it from his pocket. He glanced at the screen and frowned.

"What?"

When he looked back at her, the frown vanished and he pasted on a smile, but it appeared forced. "It's Chris. Deacon wants to talk to you."

She smiled as well, but it fell for a moment. "Is he allowed to do that?"

Street shrugged. "Probably not, but I think we're past that now. I mean, it can't get much worse." As he talked, he typed out a text and sent it. Then, his phone rang and he held it out.

Reagan swiped to answer the call and put the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

 _"Hi, babe."_

Her breath rushed out, shuddering, as she fought back the tears that came out of nowhere. "Hi," was all she could manage to say.

 _"I miss you."_

Just those three tender words were enough to cause those tears to tumble. She swept them away and said, "I miss you, too."

 _"Are you doing all right?"_

She nodded even though he couldn't see her. "Yes. I'll be fine."

 _"I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you yet. They have me so busy back at headquarters. You know how much paperwork this kind of thing creates,"_ he joked, but she knew he was lying.

"David," she said quietly, "I know what you did for me. You don't have to cover it up."

She heard him blow out a breath. _"I want you to know that I wouldn't have done it differently. Whatever it takes to keep you safe…"_

Reagan didn't hear anything after that because her focus was drawn to the doorway of her room, where Commander Hicks stood with a hesitant smile.

Street glanced over his shoulder and then back at her, his eyes wide. He shrugged, as if to say _, I didn't call him,_ even though she'd asked him to.

 _"Reagan?"_ Deacon asked at her silence.

"Uh, I'm sorry, Auntie, I need to go. My boss just got here."

 _"Hicks is there?"_

"Yeah…"

 _"Okay, I'll let you go."_ There was a quick pause, then, _"I love you, Reagan."_

Her heart squeezed in her chest and she tried not to cry all over again. She avoided the curious gazes of both men—for different reasons—as she said, "I love you, too."

She ended the call and passed the phone to Street. She could've sworn she saw disappointment on his face, like she'd just hit the last nail in the coffin for their romantic relationship.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Hicks said, stepping further into the room.

Reagan wiped an index finger beneath each eye to fully clear away any excess moisture. "No, it's fine. I was just talking to my aunt."

He nodded in understanding, and Street conveniently chose that moment to excuse himself, but still shot her a warning glance before he left the room.

"I read your statement," Hicks began. "Please accept my deepest apologies for what you went through, and for the fact that we were unable to negotiate with their terms. You know how things work in the LAPD."

"I do know and I'm sorry you were put in that position. I hadn't talked to my brother in years, and things weren't great between us, but I had no idea he would do that."

"Your brother…do you know where he is?"

Reagan stared at Hicks, realizing why he had come down here to talk to her.

Her expression was somewhat stony as she said, "No. I was told he dropped me off and drove away. I don't even remember the car ride."

"Did he say anything?"

"Just, 'sorry.'"

"He apologized to you? After all that?"

"Well he did save my life."

"After putting you in the position to need saving."

Reagan let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm not justifying or forgiving what he did, but he could've let me die and he didn't. Now _La Eme_ will be after him. He's on the run. If we do find him, he's going to need protection."

"Protection," he stated, his voice flat with annoyance.

"Yes. He's still my brother. I won't have his blood on my hands."

"No, just yours," he snapped.

Reagan dropped her heated gaze to her lap. She was looking for an opportunity to help Deacon and the team, but didn't seem to be making any headway. If she couldn't find an opportunity, she'd make one.

"Speaking of deals, I think you should offer one to Sergeant Kay."

Hicks' lips pressed together to form a thin line. "I don't think you're in the position, Officer Cassidy, to make that kind of suggestion. I will agree that Deacon is as good as they come and I'm sorry to see it come to this."

"If he's so good, then help him."

"Officer Cassidy…"

"Have you tracked the location of the plane?"

Hicks' brow twitched in confusion. "Yes. They're somewhere in Mexico."

 _How original_ , she thought to herself. "Have the local authorities taken them into custody?"

"They can't and probably won't. Those men are wanted in America for committing American crimes. The Mexican police don't have jurisdiction and don't usually care to."

"Then let me suggest a deal for Sergeant Kay and my team members. They only wanted to help me. Let me help them now. Please?"

Hicks' scowl smoothed out and he took a seat in the chair beside her. "Okay. I'm listening."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Hooray for SWAT night! Thank you canadice, WishfulThinker66, and Super Gran for reviewing! We're close to the end here...**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Deacon sat at the rickety bistro table outside a café in some beach village in Mexico. He sipped from the cup of coffee in front of him, grimacing at how much it tasted like sandy gasoline.

 _"He's on the move,"_ a voice said in his ear.

Deacon looked up, peering through his aviators to casually watch the doorway of the hotel across the street. A man sauntered out of the open doorway and headed down the dusty street. Deacon had to restrain himself from drawing his weapon and ending this once and for all. Except that would be too quick. On the other hand, he wasn't here for vengeance—he was here to clear his name—but that didn't mean he wasn't tempted to close this chapter differently. More than once he had imagined doing to Carlito Lopez what the man had done to Reagan.

But he had a job to do, and she was counting on him to hold up his end.

Hicks had come to Deacon after visiting Reagan in the hospital and offered him a deal: Go to Mexico and clean up his mess, and they'd discuss his return to work as team leader. He would have a probationary period, which didn't bother him one bit. A slap on the wrist was nothing compared to the deep shit he could be in right now.

Street stepped out from the same doorway, decked out in board shorts and Ray Bans. He held Chris's hand so they would look like a couple on vacation. They followed Lopez, staying a good distance behind.

"He's walking toward someone," Luca added, and sat across from Deacon. He tried his own coffee and immediately spit it back into the cup. "This tastes like ass."

Hondo scoffed from his spot down the road. _"Focus, man."_ He sat on a bench with one arm draped across the back, the other holding a cell phone up to his ear as if he were mid call.

" _What're you going to do if that thing starts ringing?"_ Chris asked.

" _You honestly think I wouldn't silence it first?"_ Hondo shot back, a smile in his deep voice. _"This ain't my first time."_

"That's why you make the big bucks," Luca added with sarcasm.

"All right, guys, let's stay on task," Deacon said. "Where's he going now? I've almost lost visual."

Lopez was headed in Hondo's direction. Hondo watched another man step out from an open-air shop, the sun reflecting off his shiny head.

" _Got eyes on Rodriguez,"_ Hondo announced.

Street and Chris kept walking until they passed the same shop, then Street said, _"Gonsález is behind him."_

"Do we take 'em now?" Luca asked.

"Too many people around. Someone could get hurt," Deacon said. "Follow them, but keep your distance."

He stood up and tossed a few bills on the table. Luca did the same. They headed down the sidewalk, chatting idly, as not to appear suspicious.

Street and Chris turned the corner, still following their three suspects. " _They're headed for a motel down, hell, I can't pronounce these street names,"_ Street said.

Chris made a disapproving sound and read it off without issue.

" _This is why we keep you around,"_ Street teased.

" _Oh is that the only reason?"_ she retorted.

Deacon noticed the slight flirtation. Perhaps they had always talked that way to each other, but today it sounded different, and it didn't bother him one bit. He was in no position to judge an "in-office" relationship.

Thinking of relationships, it made him realize once more how much he missed Reagan. It had been a week since he'd seen her in person, the last time being their date on his apartment's rooftop. He didn't count the horrid ransom video and hospital security footage. As much as he tried to erase that image, he couldn't unsee it. He would've pegged her for dead—there was so much carnage. It made his gut ache just reimagining it.

 _Stay on task_ , he reminded himself. If they got these guys today, he'd be back in the good old US of A and with Reagan very soon.

When he and Luca rounded the corner, they could see the cheap motel up ahead, along with Chris and Street following a little too closely.

"Back off a bit, we don't want to spook 'em," Deacon told the couple.

Street cursed when Gonsález spun around, recklessly yielding a handgun. _"Too late!"_ he said as he and Chris dove behind a car on the side of the road. They pulled out their own weapons from wherever they'd hid them and waited for an opportunity to return fire.

Meanwhile, Hondo, Luca and Deacon closed the distance and took cover when Gonsález aimed his gun their way.

Deacon peeked over the half-wall that surrounded the motel and saw Lopez disappear around a corner, with Rodriguez fleeing in the opposite direction. When Gonsález finished shooting, he ducked away from the return fire and also fled.

Chris and Street said, _"We've got Rodriguez."_

Luca said, "I'll take Gonsález."

Deacon glanced at Hondo. That left them Lopez—just the way he wanted it. "Let's go."

They sprinted after the main suspect, avoiding strolling tourists and busy locals trying to sell their knock-off sunglasses and flowery wraps. Hondo almost took out a small food cart selling shave ice.

 _"Gonsález is down,"_ Luca announced, sounding out of breath.

Relieved that they at least had one, Deacon stayed on Lopez, until a junky car drove out from an alleyway and hit him in the side. It wasn't hard, but just enough to swipe him off his feet and onto the hood. The woman behind the wheel yelled at him in Spanish as he righted himself. He waved her away and Hondo stopped briefly, squeezing Deacon's shoulder.

"You alright, man?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just stay on him," Deacon said, rubbing his hip and then following after Hondo. That would definitely leave a bruise…

The two men got to the end of the street and stopped. It went either left or right and their suspect was nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," Hondo muttered, gasping for breath, hands on his sides.

"Let's split up," Deacon said.

As he took off to the right, Chris said, _"Rodriguez is down."_

"Good job, guys," Deacon huffed.

 _"Get that son of a bitch,"_ Street said, referring to Lopez.

"We lost sight of him, but he can't be too far—"

Something blindsided Deacon, knocking him into the abandoned side street. He wrestled against the weight above him and caught a glimpse of Lopez's angry mug. His first instinct was to shoot the man, but his hands were empty—his gun had been knocked far out of reach. Caught off guard, Lopez landed a solid left hook into the side of Deacon's head. He deflected the second blow, though, and kneed Lopez between the legs. The man rolled over into the fetal position and Deacon scrambled for his gun. Lopez caught his foot and yanked him backwards. Deacon tried to kick him in the face, but he dodged it.

More punches were exchanged as the two men scuffled in the dirt. From almost nowhere, Lopez withdrew his own gun and pointed it at Deacon's chest. Deacon swept his arm across his front, causing the weapon to discharge into the ground next to them, but not before grazing the outside of his bicep. He grunted and knocked the gun away completely.

Lopez tried to wrap his arm around Deacon's neck to get him into a chokehold, but the sergeant expected it. He twisted his body and flipped Lopez hard onto his back. Lopez scurried backward and reached into his pocket. He flipped a blade from the handle in his grasp and somehow Deacon knew it was the same knife Lopez had used to hurt Reagan.

Seeing red, Deacon let Lopez come at him. They landed in the dirt once more, fighting for control over the sharp weapon. Lopez slashed his arm from left to right, but Deacon blocked him so the knife only hit air. Then, in less than a blink, Deacon deflected the blade straight into Lopez's chest.

It was probably wrong of him to do it. He was an ethical man, and usually smart. Deep down he knew he could have prevented the whole confrontation and taken Lopez into custody. But he was still a man, and his urge to provide justice for those who he cared about ran on a primal level. He couldn't think of a single man who wouldn't do the same thing.

Lopez fell backward, touched the handle lodged in his torso and wheezed out his last breath.

Deacon stayed on the ground, catching his own breath.

It was over.

He'd done what he came here to do and Reagan was safe. No worrying about a trial—Lopez was probably getting his own right then.

"Deke!" Hondo yelled, running over.

"I'm good," he said, and sat up. As his adrenaline dissipated, every ache in his body made itself known. "Let's call this in. Then I need a shower…"

A few hours later and not soon enough, they were cleared to return to their motel. Unfortunately, they couldn't get a flight out until the next afternoon, so they were stuck in Mexico for another night. He guessed it didn't really matter; he was dead on his feet anyway.

They arrived at the motel via taxi, congratulated each other on a job well done, and went to their separate rooms, agreeing to meet in the attached dive bar that night if anyone felt up to it.

Deacon unlocked his door, tossed the key on the TV stand and collapsed onto the bed. He groaned on impact, instantly regretting his decision, as it made his bruises hurt even more.

Someone knocked on the door and he groaned again. He didn't think he could move from that spot. But he did, pushing up to stand and releasing the deadbolt to open the door.

* * *

Reagan smiled at Deacon and let out a little laugh at the shocked look on his face.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes brightening in an instant.

"I came to see you."

"But shouldn't you be resting right now? Like, in the hospital?"

Her smile widened. "Maybe, but I got out a few days ago. I can just rest here with you."

Finally, he grinned and pulled her into his arms. She hugged him back, nuzzling her face into his warm chest.

When he eventually let her go, she stepped back and said, "You look terrible."

He barked out a laugh. "Well it's nice to see you, too."

"No, I mean, I want to keep hugging you, but you're covered in dirt...and blood. Like a lot of it."

Deacon's expression turned serious. "That's because we got 'em. Lopez is dead."

Reagan sighed in relief. "I know. Chris called me. She was the one who organized my flight. She knew you guys were stuck here and I wanted to surprise you."

"Well consider me surprised," he said, his eyes glittering as they raked over her face.

After a moment of silence, she asked, "May I come in? This bag is getting heavy."

He chuckled and backed up, reaching for her bag at the same time. "I'm sorry! Yes, please."

The motel room was on the cheap side, with just the basics: a worn king-size bed, small analog television, and grungy postage-stamp bathroom.

Reagan didn't care. She had Deacon and that was enough.

She followed him to where he put her duffle bag on the bed and unzipped it, getting out her first-aid kit.

"Sit down," she said, and pointed at the spot next to her.

Deacon smirked as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I like when you boss me around."

"It can't be you all the time," she retorted, winking.

She unwrapped an alcohol wipe and moved to stand between his legs. As she dabbed at a cut on his brow, she felt his hands come around her waist and settle on her backside.

"You have a great ass," he said, brown eyes gazing up at her.

Reagan's heart skipped a beat and she tried to keep her breathing normal. She only met his gaze for a second and tried to stay on task, but the lust in his eyes nearly knocked her off her feet.

"How hard did he hit you? That's not something Sergeant Deacon Kay would say."

Deacon lightly wet his lips and smiled. "I'm not your boss anymore. I can say whatever I want now."

"Well, let me get you cleaned up and _then_ you can do that. You're distracting me..."

"Oh, am I?" he asked, letting his hands wander upward and skim under her tank-top to trace the curve of her spine.

She shivered. "Please, David?"

His eyes grew darker and his hands more possessive. "Don't call me David if you're asking me to stop."

She could barely get out the words: "Yeah, that was stupid of me." He kept touching her until she finally threw down the wipe and said, "Go take a shower."

"Come with me," he said, rising to his feet.

She shook her head. "I can't get my stitches wet."

His lust was replaced with concern for a moment. "Are you sure we should even...? I don't want to hurt you..."

Reagan ran a hand through his short hair and let it come to rest on his bearded cheek. "I'll be fine, but not if you don't hurry up."

He smiled and hurried away, throwing off his shirt as he went. She admired the ripple of his back muscles before he disappeared into the bathroom.

When Deacon came back—in record time—he had a white towel around his waist, a light sheen of water on his chest and the usual cross around his neck.

He looked delicious.

What she didn't tell him was that she actually wasn't supposed to do anything active for a while, so she would try her best to let him do most of the work. It would be difficult—she wanted to do unspeakable things to him.

"I just realized something," he said, stopping to sit next to her on the bed.

"What?"

His gaze dropped to her lips. "I haven't kissed you yet. And I've been dying to since the night you left my apartment."

Reagan smiled. "That makes two of us."

She waited while he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and cradled her face in both hands. His mouth brushed against hers, slowly at first, and then increased pressure with each kiss.

She'd missed this so bad. She'd missed him.

Deacon helped slide the tank-top over her head, and continued to kiss her while she unbuttoned her shorts. She stood long enough to remove the rest of her clothing, and glanced down when she realized he was staring at the bandage on her stomach. When his eyes wandered back up, she saw sadness in them.

"If I had lost you..."

She tilted her head and crawled onto the bed, straddling his lap. "But you didn't. I'm right here," she said, and took his hand, placing it over her wildly beating heart.

"I love you," he whispered.

Elation emanated through Reagan's chest and she was so grateful that she could now say it to him face-to-face. "I love you too, David."

As they kissed again, she moved the towel aside and allowed him to slide his hands under her hips. He lifted her without effort, bringing her down onto him.

"Is this okay?" he asked after a few seconds, his breath hot against her lips.

She nodded, sliding her arms tighter around his neck. She touched her forehead to his and said, "It's perfect."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Here it is—the final chapter! Thank you to all of my amazing reviewers and to those who have followed along. I may end up doing a sequel at some point if I feel up for the challenge. I love the family man side of Deacon and think that would be fun to write.**

 **My song choice for the bar scene in this chapter is "Llegaste Tú" by Luis Fonsi & Juan Luis Guerra.**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Reagan opened her eyes to see the last colors of dusk splayed on the walls of their motel room. She blinked and glanced down, catching Deacon looking over at her across his pillow.

"Hi," he said, smiling.

"Hey," she answered with her own sleepy smile.

"How're you feeling?"

She snuggled into the sheets and stretched just enough to not pull her stitches. "I haven't felt this good in a long time." She noticed the cuts and bruises on his face and reached out to gently run her fingers over them. "What about you?"

"A little sore, but I'll live."

"Thank goodness, because I'm not done with you yet," Reagan said, letting her hand wander to his bare chest. She sighed as she stroked a dark bruise and her smile disappeared.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm sorry for everything I put you through."

"Reagan—"

"If we hadn't been in a relationship and complicated things, you wouldn't have risked your job to get me back. You would've followed protocol like you were supposed to."

"Says you. My team is everything to me. I would do anything to help one of my own."

"Okay, well, you could at least let me feel a tiny bit special," she said, nudging his shoulder playfully.

He laughed. "You have no idea how special you are. I was losing my mind, Reagan."

"I'm so sorry."

"No more of that. I made my own decisions. _I_ wanted us to be together. Besides, you were taken against your will. It's not like you did it on purpose."

"I know," she said, "but you all had to come down to this shithole and clean up my mess, putting your lives and jobs on the line."

Deacon stared at her in disbelief. "We know you would've helped, but you were kind of preoccupied."

Reagan shrugged. "A little gutting can't keep me down for long."

He laughed, rubbing his hands over his face and releasing it on a groan. "Oh babe, what am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," she said, grinning.

He glanced back at her and remained silent, looking like he wanted to say something. He caressed a hand over the outside of her arm and she squinted at him.

"Out with it already."

Deacon's lips twitched into a smile. Then, he said, "Tell me about your brother."

Reagan rolled onto her back and threaded fingers through her thick hair. "Wow, you sure know how to kill the mood."

"You need to talk about him. I know Wendy will hit you up when we get back, but I'd like to think that you and I have a closer relationship."

"I should hope so. I mean, I like Wendy, but she's not really my type."

Deacon snorted. "Are you ever serious?"

Reagan blew out a heavy breath. "Ugh, yes, I'm sorry. I think it's my defense mechanism."

"I understand that. Life can be too serious, but if you don't deal with it, it will eat you from the inside out."

She nodded, and finally spoke. She told him about her little brother—their falling out after their mother's death, how they hadn't talked or seen each other in ten years. "I knew from following his record that he wasn't up to any good, but I had no clue it would come to that."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Physically? No."

"Where do you stand now?"

She laughed, but the sound was short. "Your guess is as good as mine. He's in the wind now. _La Eme_ is after him, along with the police. The latter would keep him alive, but I'm sure he doesn't want to take that risk. They have plenty of connections on the inside." She paused. "He could've let me die, but he didn't. He's still my little brother—the only family I have left."

"That's not true," Deacon said with a gentle smile.

Reagan looked at him and nodded. "You're right. I've gained a whole new family and I shouldn't take that for granted."

Deacon dropped a kiss onto her shoulder and she reached for him, turning so she could sweep her mouth against his. Already undressed, he covered her body with his own and made them one.

* * *

An hour later, they walked into the dive bar and immediately spotted their team at a table among the sparse crowd.

"Cassie!" Luca yelled, jumping up from his seat and running over to give her a hug. She laughed as he spun her around. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't let you guys have all the fun without me!"

When he let her go, Chris stepped up and they exchanged a quick squeeze.

"Thank you for your help," Reagan said at her ear.

"Happy to. Four guys on the loose in Mexico? I could use the extra help."

"I thought there were only three suspects?"

Chris jabbed a thumb at the table. "I'm talking about these bozos."

They burst out laughing and Hondo moved in for a hug.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," Chris quipped.

When Hondo stepped back, Street was there, leaning against the table. He appeared to be hesitating, but Reagan closed the space and wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her for a few seconds and then released her.

"You look great," he said, his words sincere and not a come on.

She smiled. "Thanks. It's great to see you."

He nodded in response, and she appreciated the fact that after everything they had become good friends.

In the next moment, their dinner was brought to the table.

 _"Comida!"_ Luca said, clapping his hands once and rubbing them together. "We got a little bit of everything! Come sit down."

He pulled out a chair for Reagan and she thanked him. Deacon sat down next to her and they smiled at each other.

 _Familia_ , she thought to herself, and reached under the table to take his hand.

* * *

After dinner, they ordered another pitcher of margaritas and cerveza, and then another. Chris and Reagan danced over to the jukebox and flipped through the albums, finding songs to play that suited their fun mood.

"This place kinda reminds me of O'Malley's," Reagan said, leaning against the jukebox to admire the carefree atmosphere and scuffed, wooden dance floor in front of them.

Chris looked over at Reagan, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"What?" Reagan asked nervously.

The other woman didn't reply. She flipped through the songs with the same laser-focus determination she used on a raid. Finally, she pressed the buttons for her selection. Slow, romantic music flowed throughout the room.

Reagan watched Chris walk over to Street and grab his hand, yanking him onto the dance floor. Then, she looked at Deacon and saw him gazing back at her. Before she could make her way over, he pushed away from the table and stood up. He strode across the bar, looking ridiculously handsome in his coral-colored polo and fitted khaki chinos.

"You look like you need a dance partner," someone said from next to Reagan. She instantly realized it was Hondo, having just walked over from the bar after seeing her standing alone.

Deacon reached her a second later and the men exchanged a look.

"Uh, I was hoping to get this one," Deacon said, sliding his arm possessively around Reagan's waist.

Hondo narrowed his eyes at them, his chin tipped up and lips parted. "Are you…?"

Reagan nodded. "We're together."

"Oh, damn. I'm sorry, Deke. I wasn't tryin' to steal your woman."

Deacon laughed. "I know. I appreciate you watching out for her."

"It's what we do," he said, and they bumped fists.

When Hondo walked back to the table, Deacon pulled Reagan close and she fit to him perfectly, as if their bodies were made for this. They swayed to the music, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

Then, Reagan asked, "What happens now?"

Deacon's dark gaze met hers. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't hear the final details of the deal you all made with Hicks. I can be quite persuasive, but I wasn't sure how far he would go to help you out."

"Well, we lucked out a little bit. The local authorities were onto Lopez and his affiliates, but with the gang having so many connections down here, and limited police resources, they were having trouble making any headway. When they heard from Hicks, they were happy for the assistance."

"So they didn't mind that you guys dropped three dead bodies in their streets?"

"Not at all. No civilians got hurt. We did what we came here to do. They were grateful."

"And what about Hicks? Chris said something about probation?"

"Yeah, we're all on probation for a bit, but we should be back to work next week."

"And Tan is coming back as well?"

He nodded. "He couldn't come with us this week because his mom had an important appointment. The doctors gave her a clean bill of health."

"That's amazing."

"It is. The band will be back together."

Reagan frowned. "I'm very happy for you, but I'm gonna miss you guys."

"I know the feeling is mutual. You're one of us now, active team member or not."

She smiled and angled up her chin to give him a brief kiss on the lips.

"How long are you on medical leave?" he asked, still moving them slowly with the song.

"My follow up appointment is next week. I hate to admit it, but I think it will be a few weeks until I'm completely ready to come back. Just dancing has made me tired."

Deacon stopped and backed up a step. "I'm sorry, we can stop…"

"No, this is nice. Chris wore me out," she said, laughing, as Deacon pulled her in again and she nestled into the comfortable nook under his chin and against his shoulder.

Deacon rubbed her back and she closed her eyes. When he cleared his throat, she lifted her head.

"What about us?" he asked, the words tentative. "What comes next for you and I?"

Her brow flinched and she shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. What did you have in mind?"

"What if we got married?"

Reagan's lips parted and she stopped dancing.

"There's a chapel down the street. We could go tomorrow…"

A laugh exploded from her chest, but when she saw real hope shining in his brown eyes, her smile vanished. "You're serious."

"I love you, Reagan. I've been waiting my whole life for you. I don't see a point in delaying the inevitable."

She continued to stare at him, grasping for the right thing to say. "David. I would like nothing more than to marry you."

He began to smile.

"But I think it's too much, too soon." She sighed at the disappointed look on his face—the look she had tried to avoid. "What if we move in together?"

Deacon glanced away and made a sound similar to a laugh, but he didn't seem pleased. "Once upon a time, people got married without knowing if they could function in the same house ahead of time."

They had reached a standstill. Literally. They were no longer dancing and had moved to one side of the floor.

"What if…" she began, and they made eye contact once more, "we move in together as an engaged couple? We can start planning our wedding when we get back."

Deacon didn't answer right away.

She touched his cheek and held his gaze, speaking clearly. "I love you, David. I want you to be my husband, and I want to be your wife. But I want to do it right. We don't even know if it would be legal down here."

Finally, he sighed out a breath and smiled at her. "You're right. I guess I got wrapped up in the moment. So…are we engaged?"

"Sure feels like it, _fiancé_."

"This is not as romantic as I had envisioned it," he admitted.

"You are such a romantic," she said, kissing him. "And I love that about you."

"So I guess I have another question then."

"Oh yeah?" she asked.

"Your place or mine?"

Reagan glanced at the nearby table in thought and a cunning smile graced her lips.

* * *

"I don't know, you guys," Luca said, looking around Deacon's large apartment. "The windows aren't east-facing. I love watching the sunrise."

Reagan held back a giggle. "You can go on the roof anytime."

Luca rolled his shoulders, clearly not liking such a precise answer. "It's just so quiet here…"

Street scoffed from his spot in the doorway. "Most people like that."

"But it's just a really big place for one person. Are you sure you and Deacon don't want to stay here instead? I like being by the beach…"

Reagan shook her head. "I own my house. This is just a rental. I'm not looking to sell."

At that exact moment, Chris walked into the room, leading a Labrador retriever.

"Who's this?" Luca asked.

"This is Duke—your new roommate."

"No way! You got me a dog?"

"I used to train him. He's in retirement now and needs a new home. I think you two will get along just fine," she said, watching them wrestle in the living room.

"He's gonna ruin my carpet," Deacon said, referring to the spotless white flooring throughout the unit.

"It's not your place anymore, Deke," Luca said as he scratched the dog behind its ears.

"Oh really?" Deacon asked skeptically. "So _now_ it's yours?"

They all laughed until a thud in the hallway interrupted them.

"Dude, I had a bad grip. That's what I was trying to tell you halfway up!" Tan complained to the man on the other side of Luca's new recliner.

Hondo scowled at him. "Well you didn't have to drop it on my foot."

Tan looked at the amused crowd in Deacon's— _Luca's_ —apartment and said, "It's nice that you guys are just laughing and hanging out while we do all the work."

Reagan shrugged. "I'm not allowed to lift anything over ten pounds."

"Excuses, excuses," Hondo teased.

When the sun began to set and Luca seemed content to be left alone, Deacon and Reagan headed down to the parking lot. Her Chevelle sat alone in one corner, like the prized car that she considered it to be.

"You know," Deacon said, capturing her attention, "you told me you'd let me drive her one of these days."

Reagan grinned. "Did I?"

"You certainly did."

"I'm pretty sure I said _I'd_ give _you_ a ride..." She tossed the keys in her hand, as if in deep consideration. "We can spar for it."

Deacon laughed. "Well, you're still healing. I'll give you a few weeks before we do that. I don't want to beat you too badly."

"Oh! Big talker over here!" She stopped at the driver's door and rested her arms on the roof. "Okay, three weeks from now? If you win, I'll let you drive her for a week. If I win, you wash her for a month."

He gave her one of his striking smiles. "You're on."

* * *

 **A/N: Again, thank you for taking this journey with me! If you enjoyed it, please drop me a line! This reboot just keeps getting better and I love connecting with other fans! :)**

 **Until next time...**

 **~Ariel**


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